Pressure Cooker
by Lady Cheshire
Summary: It would be a night to remember. . . if they survived it.
1. Chapter 1

_P3. Senpai-centric. Mind-warping. Gore._

_Feedback?_

* * *

_You've had nightmares like this._

Mitsuru pressed the button of her now-redundant communicator and called, once again for Yamagishi.

"Yamagishi, this is Mitsuru. Please respond."

A flurry of static responded, and Mitsuru lifted her finger from the button. Naturally, she knew she wouldn't be able to contact Yamagishi this high up into Tartarus, but the attempt in and of itself was the only thing keeping Mitsuru from walking a path of panic. She looked around and scanned the floor for shadows and found nothing. Part of her was relieved that she wasn't in any imminent danger, while part of her constricted. Floors empty of shadows were notorious stomping grounds for the Reaper.

Mitsuru bent the blade of her foil on the ground as she smoothed out a portion of crimson hair and tucked it neatly behind her shoulder. The most important thing, her fencing instructor had taught her, was to remain in control of the situation. Either by facilitating or disrupting a bout through tempo changes or manipulating distance, methodical speed, precision, and awareness were essential for victory. She was grateful for the years of instruction, because she could apply the same tactics here in Tartarus.

Suffice to say, she was not concerned about her own well-being. . . yet.

She peered down a darkened hallway coated with a stark neon blue color. Mitsuru looked down and noticed that below her feet, black stones comprised the floor which wound into several directions. As she contemplated this new and strange floor-plan, Mitsuru felt the first few tentacles of panic begin to tickle her nerves. _Floor 202_, she told herself. The last location she had seen the others.

While winding their way back to a transporter, she had noted a myriad of cracks lining the inner-walls. Previously, the only imperfections in Tartarus' architecture had been limited to the metaphysical appearances of running blood, mismatched coloring schemes, and shifting floor layouts. This had been the first time Mitsuru had noticed a realistic flaw in Tartarus' structural integrity, and for good reason, it unnerved her.

Mitsuru shook her head firmly and pressed the call button again.

"Yamagishi, this is Mitsuru. Please respond." She was careful as always to keep the rumbling desperation sealed in her mind, and refused to let it surface in her transmission. Even though Mitsuru knew Fuuka wouldn't respond, the sound of her own voice was all she had to control right now.

Once again met with empty crackling, Mitsuru switched her communicator off and tapped her shoes against the cold stone ground. She was hoping for some sort of hint about her current whereabouts to lead her to a suitable course of action, but predictably, no such clue had dropped from thin air. She could work her way through this new setting and search the neighboring floors, but it would prove disastrous should her teammates come looking for her. The safest decision would be to stay put. Distantly, Mitsuru heard the tinkling of chains and suddenly felt the gaping void where Fuuka's guiding voice had recently been.

_You've had nightmares like this._

Mitsuru swallowed as she rounded a corner and found a neat, neon-blue staircase winding up into the darkness.

Yes.

_What are you going to do?_

I have to find the others. They may be hurt.

_I am blind beside Lucia. I can offer you nothing._

I wasn't intending to ask. I will search for them on foot.

_Do you remember how the nightmare ends?_

Mitsuru's step hitched as she worked her way up the stairs.

Immediately following Mitsuru's first visit to Tartarus and the first summoning of Penthesilea, she henceforth had recurring dreams of walking Tartarus' bloody floors dressed in the yukata she wore to her mother's funeral as a child of barely six years of age. The dreams varied in style, sometimes the floors were different colors and even the shadows varied in nature. Sometimes they were friendly and played hide and seek with her, while sometimes-

_It doesn't end - you must awaken in order for the nightmare to die._

Every dream was essentially the same due to one overriding characteristic- Mitsuru was trapped in Tartarus; alone and with no way out.

* * *

Aigis threw open the doors, the sound of her legs thumping lightly on the ground as she pulled Fuuka urgently by the hand. Yukari and Junpei shortly followed as they fumbled and tripped over each other, bickering all the while. Minato brought up the rear with Ken and Koromaru, and behind them the doors snapped shut. Koromaru barked urgently, and Aigis responded by merely shaking her head. They soon found themselves outside the gate of Gekkoukan High which was currently in its trasmutated state of Tartarus.

"The Dark Hour is ending," Aigis answered with a slight inflection in her voice.

As if to punctuate the statement, the sudden moaning and bending of concrete and steel was pitched forward into the night. Struck with horror, the remaining S.E.E.S. members watched Tartarus expand and shudder before it pulled in on itself and returned the normal state.

"What the hell?" Junpei finally sputtered. "Where's our senpai? Minato gets back and the next thing I know I'm being pushed out the damn doors!"

"We couldn't stay another second." Ken reminded him. "It's amazing we got out in time."

A brooding silence blanketed the group, and the only sounds that emanated from the team were the sounds of heavy breathing.

"When I stepped into the portal," Minato replayed softly, his eyes fastened to the now inconspicuous school that loomed quietly over skyline of Port Island. "they were right behind me, and as I stepped in. . ." His brow furrowed.

Fuuka's skin chafed as she wrung her hands together.

"I looked behind me and it was like someone cut them out of the scene. They were being pulled one direction and I was being pulled another. There was a loud crash, like part of the building was falling over and then I came back to the entrance alone."

"Shit." Junpei murmured, stunned.

Minato swallowed and then shook his head.

"We'll come back tomorrow."

All eyes turned fearfully to Minato.

"Don't worry." Minato finally said mustering up the strength to form a reassuring smile. "If I had to choose anyone to put through this, it would be them."

"Yeah. . ." Ken finished, feeling Minato's confidence spread. "Besides. . . it's just an hour for them, right?"

Silently, Fuuka disagreed as she reflected back on her time locked in Tartarus. It was an hour, yes, but not _just an hour._


	2. Chapter 2

In more formal times, white was the primary color adorned by the mourning at Japanese funerals and wakes. Customs changed with, though, and soon Japan adopted the color black to properly pay homage to the dead. For the Kirijo family, however, formality never went out of style and Mitsuru wore white to her mother's funeral.

As the maids wrapped her snugly in her petite kimono, they cooed about how lovely she looked, and please make sure you don't spill anything on your pretty kimono, miss; remember to be quiet as a mouse, miss; read this picture book during the ceremony, miss. Although the maids knew they needn't ask this of their already well-behaved charge, they weren't sure how a girl so young would handle the surreal nature of a mother's funeral.

Ironically, her behavior was so exemplary that it drew attention instead of diverting it; because no six year-old child sat that still, spoke so graciously, or smiled so politely. Guests came and went and somberly complimented Mitsuru on her excellent etiquette, but after they passed they clucked and shook their heads about the shame of a child never knowing her mother. Although a small part of her decorum was due in part to her upbringing, Mitsuru behaved primly and delicately because she knew such behavior was usually rewarded with visits from her elusive father.

Later, as guests poured in from outside and began to congregate in various groups, she watched him hobble past her chair in the reception foyer and Mitsuru angulated her posture up to a pert ninety degree angle while she smiled angelically. When he walked by without so much as a glance in her direction, she slumped slightly and made the tiniest of pouts before returning diligently to her post as well-behaved child. Mitsuru had taken notice of the patterns of her father's presence, and noted with great importance that when he was pleased he would seek her out, and when he was unhappy she was delivered to him. So when she was presented at his side for the cremation ceremony, she felt herself go rigid with dread and pulled herself into her tiniest and most inscrutable position.

There were people crowded around a large wooden casket placed on top of a tray, but she had hardly noticed such trivial items. Moments passed without her father uttering a single sound, and Mitsuru trembled anxiously as she wondered what she might have done in order to deserve such a scolding in front of so many strangers. When he noticed her shaking, her father silently maneuvered Mitsuru's long elegant sleeves to guide her small hand into his calloused one before he gave it a tiny squeeze. She calmed down a bit, but not enough to remain unnerved by the strange sight of a large mahogany box perched so close to a pit of oil and tinder.

"Is that where mother is sleeping?"

Without sparing her a glance, her father nodded. Mitsuru took the time to make sure his hand was securely fastened in hers and felt her heart pump louder at the rush of attention he gave her.

Still distracted by the close proximity to her father, Mitsuru scarcely noticed a robed priest as he began to chant and motion gracefully over the casket.

She stood next to her father as her mother was conveyed into the burning pyre.

"Father. . ." Mitsuru began in her tiniest voice. He glanced down at her hesitantly.

"What is it, Mitsuru?"

She loved his voice. It gave her the feeling of being warm under a big blanket during a cold snowstorm. She couldn't properly concentrate on it now though.

"What are they doing to mother?"

He paused and looked away from her briefly.

"They are purifying her for the Earth."

"Why?" She murmured, her eyes glassy with the image of flame greedily devouring flesh and wood.

"Because that's where she belongs now."

Mitsuru grabbed a fistful of her father's suit and pulled herself close against his leg. She looked onward as the fire danced around the coffin before the priest shut the door to the crematorium.

"I don't like it." Mitsuru whimpered.

She felt his gnarled fingertips slip beneath her hair and gently caress her scalp.

"I don't either."

* * *

Mitsuru was very tired at the end of the day. She didn't remember doing anything incredibly exhausting other than sitting and being polite, but such feats were already second nature to her. Perhaps what made her weary was her constant mental playback of her father's shoulders as they became tenser and tenser before the ceremony, and after, as they drooped lower and lower in fatigue. She waited for him now, and felt relieved when the maid told her that he would see her once all the guests were gone. Good. She had done something right. Still dressed in her white kimono, Mitsuru sat in the parlor of her home and turned the pages of a short book.

The door creaked open, and immediately Mitsuru jumped up and gave a deep bow.

"Why, don't you look lovely, puppet."

She felt the blood drain from her heart, and Mitsuru masked the cringe she felt upon hearing his voice.

Mitsuru remained in a low bow as her grandfather approached, and began to quietly breathe through her mouth as the familiar stench of sulfur and rotten leather wafted closer with each step he took.

A long finger pulled Mitsuru's chin up from her bow, and she tried to retain the sensation of her tongue in her cotton-mouth.

"Stand up now, let Grandpa see that beautiful face."

Mitsuru obliged and pinned a smile on her lips.

"Hello, Grandfather."

"It's been a difficult day for you. Why don't you sit with Grandpa and tell me all about it?"

Mitsuru nodded mutely and watched her grandfather sit down on a leather chair. He gingerly patted his knee, and Mitsuru could hear reverberations of the noise like sirens in her ears as she pulled her feet up and stiffly sat on his lap.

"I know it's been hard for you without mommy, puppet." He began in a sticky-sweet voice. Mitsuru blinked as her grandfather wound a tendril of her red hair around his fingers. She nodded in agreement.

"Not just for you, though. . ." He added softly, "for everyone. . . especially Daddy."

Mitsuru turned to him, her interest piqued.

He bared his teeth in a smile.

"Yes, your father has had a very difficult time. You know he's very busy, don't you?"

Mitsuru nodded, looking down at her fingers as she played with the hems on her sleeves.

"Yes . . ." He hummed, "the death of your mother and the work he does for the Kirijo Group has all been very difficult, and he hasn't had very much help from you lately."

Mitsuru continued to play with the silk on the ends of her sleeves as she nodded again.

"While he's been working very hard to be a Daddy and a Mommy, you've been playing with your dolls and your pretty tea-set he gave you, yes?"

"Yes, Grandfather."

"Yes. It hurts him so. . . seeing you happy while he works alone and unappreciated to make your life better. Don't you think he'd like some help from you, puppet? To make his pain lighter?"

Mitsuru nodded, urgently this time.

"I don't want father to be in pain." She murmured, looking her grandfather briefly in the eyes. He smiled again as he traced his fingers along Mitsuru's temple, and she concentrated on breathing through her mouth and playing with her pretty kimono.

"I knew you would say that, puppet. You are a very selfless girl, Mitsuru. Now, your Daddy is a very proud man. . ."

"Yes, Grandfather."

"Sometimes grown-ups don't like to admit that they need help, do you understand?"

Mitsuru didn't understand, but nodded complacently.

"So you mustn't tell Daddy that we're helping him."

"All right."

"Such a smart, sweet girl, Mitsuru."

"Thank you, Grandfather."

"Yes. Now remember," He chimed as he pointed a long bony finger to her nose, "you said you wanted to help. You must not forget that."

Even though Mitsuru was filtering his stench away from her nose, she could still taste her grandfather's rank odor on her lips. His breath and the feeling of his fingers tracing lightly over her skin conspired against her stomach, and Mitsuru wanted nothing more than to push him away and run, but she was hopelessly secured in the crook of his arm.

As Mitsuru parted her lips to give another concise and obedient response, the door creaked open again. Beneath her, she felt her grandfather tense, although his facial expression was still coated with a veneer of familial warmth.

"Go to your room. We will speak in the morning." There wasn't a sliver of emotion in her father's voice, but Mitsuru knew he was not pleased.

She choked back a quiver as she nodded and shakily descended from her grandfather's lap. Mitsuru gave her grandfather a mechanical kiss on the cheek and a soft bow before extending the same bow to her father and hastily leaving the room.

A maid was waiting outside for her, and when she heard the door click shut it was all Mitsuru could do to not burst into tears. The maid, noticing her distress, descended upon her and made hushing noises in tandem with reassuring pats on the back. She had obviously done something wrong but it was different than the other times; most likely worse than any other trespass. What had she done to alter his behavior? Being angry, he should have sent for her and reprimanded her as was his habit. To ask her to wait for him only to receive him so livid was cruel.

"What does he want from me?" She whispered to herself quietly as she rubbed her eyes in exhaustion. The maid gently led her along through the darkened corridors, and Mitsuru wondered if her home had always been this hollow.

"Don't worry, miss." The maid said as she patted Mitsuru's hand softly. "They're not fighting. Grown-ups just need to talk sometimes."

Mitsuru didn't understand, but nodded and remained quiet as the maid took her up to her room and brought her tea. She did not hear the shouts sealed away behind the parlor doors, nor did she remember her father entering her room and weeping at her bedside.

* * *

Mitsuru stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose, her foil sitting limp in her hand.

She wasn't sure how Yamagishi had handled the silence. It plugged her ears and steadily filed away at her thought process as step after ear-shattering step she walked through deserted corridors. Even on the nightly expeditions to blocks in Tartarus, there was the slithering and wet noise of shadows treading the ground, the distant chains of the Reaper, or the incandescent hum of a portal. Here it was only the tidy sound of Mitsuru's heels clicking against the spotless stone ground.

If there had been a portal, an abandoned briefcase or chest, or stairs, she would have been able to properly map out this particular floor. No matter how carefully she retraced her steps, neon blue walls and black stone greeted her at every turn and corner, making it impossible for her to accurately judge the floor plan.

There was no point in panicking, Mitsuru reminded herself again, and moving around at a rigorous pace would simply result in her becoming fatigued sooner. Mitsuru was now faced with the reality that the Dark Hour was over, and that she and presumably the others were sealed in. Her communicator told a time, but there was no way of judging its accuracy. She gave a short sigh as she leaned up against a wall and paused to think. Now that the Dark Hour was presumably over, there was no urge to frantically look for an exit but it was still infuriating that this floor gave no Mitsuru no indication of her actual location. Mitsuru felt a sudden pang of envy for Yamagishi's ability as she thought about how simple it would be to not only pinpoint her location, but the whereabouts of Shinjiro and Akihiko as well.

Pulling her foil up to an en garde position, she moved on.

* * *

Shinjiro knew a life of waiting. His earliest memory was of a hospital waiting room and a brightly colored vending machine. An old nurse sat with him and gave him stale candy while he watched people with sterile white lab coats dash by. The nurse tried to engage Shinjiro in simple conversation; what his favorite foods were, how he liked school, the names of his friends, but when he grew uninterested the nurse had defined the word 'orphan' for him before informing him that parents were dead. He had waited only twenty minutes for them to die, but had to sit in the lobby for an additional three hours before someone took him to the orphanage.

After three years at the orphanage Shinjiro met Akihiko and Miki, and the other more aggressive children noticed patience embedded in Shinjiro's strategy when they realized he waited for them to make the first move before he lunged. Shinjiro didn't have to wait long for them to stop bullying Miki. Years went by, and Shinjiro experienced the first hungry pangs of impatience after going three entire Akihiko-free days before he forced the manifestation of his persona and he joined S.E.E.S. He waited for the next hurdle, and after October passed he took his waiting elsewhere. Ken joined in the summer, and when Akihiko and Minato approached him, Shinjiro decided to wait a little more aggressively.

The interior of Tartarus was new to him, and when he had first stepped inside its tiled floors, he felt Castor jump with glee. Speaking of which-

_Where's the blood? It's not fun without the blood, brother mine._

Shinjiro ignored him.

It hadn't required a lot of brains to figure what had happened. The group had been separated when Minato stepped through the portal and mere moments before the Dark Hour had ended. So when he found himself alone and in what was presumably a new block of Tartarus, his intuitive response was simply to take his time looking around.

_There's no blood to play with in here._

Though Shinjiro continued to ignore him, he couldn't help but glance around at the walls furtively.

Castor was right- there was no blood dripping from the crevices in the walls nor was it bubbling up from under the tiles. The normalcy of the floor's appearance was a stark contrast to the bizarre shapes and creatures dwelling on the floors below (or was it above?), but no shadows, no problem, right? Shinjiro frowned and popped an impressive wad of spit out of his mouth. Somehow, that seemed like a pretty bad line of reasoning, and the unease he felt as he ambled along the empty blue corridor pointed sharply against his stomach. Still, there was no rush. Whatever was going to happen would happen soon enough, and Shinjiro had no problem with letting trouble find him. After all, waiting was easy for those who had no where to go.

_Nowhere to go, nowhere to go, nowhere to go. I want to play._

He paused briefly to reflect on Castor's tone before he slung his axe over his shoulder and continued his stride with a nameless tune on his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

If he took that one inch closer, he'd fall right off the precipice and they'd probably never find him.

Shinjiro noted this with a nauseating mixture of fear and wonder as he aligned the toes of his shoes along the very edge of the rocky cliff. Directly below, the ocean surged against black stones only to be tugged back into the looming expanse of blue. His parents had told him that they'd been vacationing here every year since Shinjiro was born, but it remained nameless, etched only into his mind as a memory of salt air and crisp green grass.

"Honey, come away from there. You're making me nervous!"

Shinjiro turned and saw his mother smiling kindly as she beckoned him toward her. His father sat next to her, and Shinjiro muffled a snicker as he saw him try to sneak a cupcake. His mother followed her son's eyes and promptly gave his father a slap on the wrist.

"You forgot to screw on the lid to the salad dressing," she half-laughed and half-reprimanded as Shinjiro jogged up to their place in the green meadow. "I knew I should have packed this myself, the entire basket is soaked through."

"Shinji, mom's being mean to me again." His father's hand was creeping back toward the box of cupcakes.

At the accusation, the lovely brunette seated next to his father gave him a playful punch.

"Darling, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Shinjiro's laughter rang vibrantly through the clearing as he helped his mother pull out items from the sticky picnic basket.

"Well?" His father asked Shinjiro, a bit dismayed that his attempts to pilfer a cupcake had been foiled.

"The tide's going out. . . I think." Shinjiro placed a box of sandwiches next to the axe laying in the grass.

His father nodded.

"Great, once we're done eating we'll go down and look around for some shells. . ." He continued as he gently lifted a bottle of wine from the basket and began to fill the glass. Shinjiro felt the breeze comb his hair as he glanced down at the axe again. Had his mother instructed him to pack that item? Shinjiro couldn't remember bringing it. . . Maybe it had been there the entire time. . . Shinjiro heard the wine slosh into the glass and looked up.

A few crimson droplets dotted his father's wrist.

"Damn it," his father muttered. "Clumsy me."

As his father began to search for a cloth, Shinjiro paled and floundered at the sight of red on flesh. Unable to rip his eyes away, he blindly reached out and grasped his mother's warm hand. He knew the touch should have been reassuring but for some illogical reason, the feeling of her skin against his was all wrong. The warm blood coursing through her felt shallow, and Shinjiro knew if her skin was removed, there would be no muscle or bone to attest to her existence.

Again, forcefully this time, he tried to remember the name of the vacationing spot, but came up short. He tried to recollect the names of his parents before he realized they were nameless. He tried to remember his age, but knew only that he was small and nothing else. In search of something tangible and comforting, Shinjiro dropped his mother's hand and placed his own tiny palms over his heart. In the place of perpetual beating, Shinjiro felt strings as taut as a violins fill his chest.

"Not real, I'm not. . ." He couldn't finish, his brain too addled with fear.

The man poised like a father directed a question at him, but Shinjiro ears were filled with a sudden barrage of noise: the electrifying sound of steel grinding against pavement, the life-absorbing silence that soon followed, and the gentle pitter-patter of blood falling like raindrops onto Shinjiro's face.

"Shinji? Honey, are you ok?" Her worried expression did not lift, even as the clear blue sky behind her tore and exposed a hazy green void dotted by the occasional star.

It was a car accident. He didn't remember the names of these people because he didn't know them- they were dead, cold, forgotten under a mound of earth. Shinjiro's mind hammered violently against his head as he felt incongruous memory stack unevenly atop distant reality. Even with his child-brain, Shinjiro knew there could be no life before the hospital waiting room because there was no memory to attest to it. The soothing image of a rocky coast and cupcakes was a void signifier, an empty shell Shinjiro had created. Shinjiro drew his limbs close to his body, knowing suddenly that being so tiny and small was also very wrong. He was supposed to be bigger, older- much older.

"Come, sit next to me." She reached out and Shinjiro recoiled when he felt a sharp sting sweep across his cheek. He stumbled back on his hands and knees, and in his attempt to clamor away from her increasingly distraught expression, his back came into contact with a solid surface.

He shut his eyes and opened them to an innocent bright blue wall. Shinjiro stared back at the wall for a few numb moments as his brain tried to compact the previous moments into a bite-sized portion Shinjiro could stomach. His senses returned to him and Shinjiro found himself seated on the floor with his axe lying forgotten at his side. He covered his eyes with one hand and let out a concentrated sigh. Other than the crushing migraine gripping his head, he seemed to be fine.

_Where'd you go, where'd you go? _

It was fatigue, plain and simple. After a grueling night of blasting through shadows and then becoming trapped in a bizarre dimension, he was bound to start imagining things. Shinjiro hauled himself to his feet and picked up his axe, nearly laughing at himself for spacing out in the middle of a mutated tower. With the hair on his arms still standing on end and the shallow cut on his cheek decidedly ignored, Shinjiro continued down the darkened corridor.

_Better not stay away too long next time or you might die. _

Shut up.

_Don't forget brother mine, I'll kill you if you ever give me the chance. I will, I will, I will._

* * *

"Your eyes will lie to you ninety-percent of the time."

Mitsuru always had a respect for adults, especially those in authority. This, as well as her talent as a persona-user and a student gave her father the required faith to agree to Mitsuru's request for lessons in the art of swordplay. Originally, Takeharu Kirijo had assumed Mitsuru had been speaking of kendo, but Mitsuru informed him that Western three-weapon fencing was her sport of choice.

His connections limitless, Takeharu sought the help of a long time family friend and acquaintance: Eisei Yamamoto. Yamamoto was not the sort of man that Takeharu Kirijo normally associated with. He was loud, rude, and had a candidness that bordered on insulting. He was not the most-highly sought after fencer in Japan, but he was the best. Despite Yamamoto not being a "cheap-date" (the very words he had used with Takeharu), he was in all-respects worth the high-price tag he charged. Born and raised with kendo in his heart, Yamamoto's brutal and graceful poise transferred well into the art of Western-fencing, and as he climbed the ranks in saber, foil, and epee his opponents learned the meaning of intimidation while sharing the strip with him. He had a plethora of scars, each one from the careless strokes of a headstrong student. However, Takeharu knew that Yamamoto had never given such scars, being a controlled master of pommel and steel. The man was brutal, but he was strictly patient.

Yamamoto certainly wasn't what Mitsuru was expecting when she appeared to their first session only 13 years old and crisply dressed in full fencing attire, but she trusted her father's expertise and behaved with the usual formality. Mitsuru assumed Yamamoto's rugged appearance was a reflection of his behavior, but was surprised when the first session consisted of a dialogue on the merits of chess. Mitsuru didn't understand the value of the conversation for years after, but she did not seek to question a man who was taking the time to help her become proficient in an otherwise foreign art. Mitsuru came to admire his unwillingness to hold back or coddle her, heiress be damned. Now though, Mitsuru's comfort and fondness for her teacher made it extremely difficult for her swallow such a questionable statement.

"Don't believe me?"

"I have my doubts." Mitsuru said amicably as she cradled her mask.

"Put your mask on."

Mitsuru complied and molded herself into an en garde position.

"Rules of the bout: Avoid the engagement and attack. Got it?"

"Yes."

Yamamoto sat patiently, and just as Mitsuru was about to question whether or not she should strike first, he pounced. Mitsuru recognized his movements and pinned down a simple plan of action to parry his blade and attack. Yamamoto moved his blade right, and Mitsuru executed a tight circle around the left of his bell-guard.

He quickly deflected Mitsuru's blade and blasted into her collarbone. Even through the grated mask, Mitsuru could see a cocked eyebrow and a disapproving frown.

Mitsuru sighed, trying to maintain a shred of patience.

"That isn't fair. You told me to avoid your blade. I did."

"Did I _ask_ you to do it pretty? Did I _ask_ you to take your time?"

"Well no, but-"

"In the time it took you to execute that _lovely_ and extremely obvious parry, I scored a point on you."

Mitsuru frowned.

"This is why you have to retrain yourself. You did what appeared to be the best course of action; I went one way and you think you've got the whole game figured out. Think small, Kirijo. Avoid the intuitive responses that get you picked off. Got it?"

Mitsuru bit back a frustrated scoff.

"Yes."

Again, Yamamoto set up for a parry and when he went to engage Mitsuru's blade she pushed her thumb forward on the pommel and pulled her forefinger. The tip of the blade dropped and Mitsuru lunged.

Yamamoto looked down at Mitsuru as the point of her epee pressed into his shoulder.

"Force your instincts to adapt because your eyes will lie to you."

"I understand."

"Good." Yamamoto playfully tapped his blade to her wrist before setting up another drill.

* * *

Mitsuru winced at the sign before she examined the area again.

Grisly yellow walls and bleached tile, she'd walked this place a thousand times before.

Mitsuru peered around a corner and immediately retreated. She tried to breathe deeply, and reminded herself that she was in control of her own situation.

The reasonable explanation for this ridiculous scenario was simply that she had fallen asleep. Though falling asleep in the middle of Tartarus in such a precarious situation was extremely irresponsible and highly unlikely, it remained the only plausible explanation. Despite this rationalization, she wanted to avoid what was at the end of that hallway at all costs.

"I can wake up," it came out as a whisper instead of a confident reminder.

She pointed herself determinedly in the opposite direction and walked briskly to the end of the path. She turned the corner-

The tip of Mitsuru's foil chimed against the white tile floor as her arm fell limp at her side.

The corridor narrowed, and at the end stood a large steel door bracketed by the sickly yellow walls.

The sign, the same sign she saw around the corner hung on the wall.

_"Research Division"_

"It's a dream, nothing can harm me here." She tried not dwell on the need to say it out loud.

She shook her head rigidly and quashed the pang of dread settling in her stomach. Turn, walk, another corner and-

Mitsuru paused before she slumped against the wall, her eyes glassy at the sight of the steel door.

Stop panicking, Mitsuru berated herself as she began to make her way to the end of the corridor. Whatever it is, all I must do is confront it and then I will wake.

Her fingertips paused on cold steel before she bitterly grasped the handle and opened wide the door.

She grimaced as she stepped into the room and immediately surveyed everything in its proper place; the empty steel tables meticulously wiped clean, the drawers brimming with medical paraphernalia (syringes in the top, clamps in the bottom, restraints in the middle) lined the wall, the electrodes dangling like tentacles from a strange monitor. Every last item looking the same as when Mitsuru had last been here. Mitsuru clenched her jaw and wrenched her eyes shut, fearing that consciousness still loomed too far in the distance.

Mitsuru opened her eyes to table, and shut them again. Being here wasn't triggering any sort of lucidity, that much was apparent. Mitsuru shook her head and turned to leave when the pungent odor of rotten leather and sulfur bore into her nostrils.

The door swung shut with a deathly groan.

"Are you ready now, sweetheart?"

She closed her eyes again, her controlled breathing becoming quieted gasps for air.

"Not real. This is not real."

"Why don't you come and say 'hello' to Grandpa before we get started?"

He carefully tucked his hand into the pocket of his trousers as he sauntered closer to her.

Mitsuru raised her foil as she began a clumsy retreat.

"Stay away from me."

He smiled and Mitsuru stumbled against a tray holding an array of needles. As it came crashing down, Mitsuru hissed as she looked at a fresh cut on her forearm. She snapped back to attention, raising her arm much too high for an en garde position. He was taking his time getting to her, and even with the elongation of her arm and foil, she could not put enough distance between them.

Mitsuru fumbled with the holster on her hip before she grasped her evoker and pushed it to her temple. Upon contact, Mitsuru felt dead weight in place of Penthesilea's cold and clear voice. She pulled the trigger and Penthesilea emerged to slam a block of ice into the apparition before her mistress. Her grandfather continued leisurely toward her.

"I know you can do better than that."

Mitsuru met the wall and nearly dropped her weapon upon contact. She bit her trembling lip and felt blood slip unto her tongue as her eyes moistened.

"Let's see what's in that pretty head of yours. . ."

"Someone, please help me!"

"Go on," he stopped his lazy pace to smile more broadly at her. He was just feet away from her now, his relaxed stance and poise boring into Mitsuru's sanity. "Kill me."

She choked and the smile fell from his face.

"DO IT NOW!"

Mitsuru funneled her sob into a yell as she sprang into him, her blade gleaming in the insincere light. The tip bounced against his chest and the blade made a sickly bend. Mitsuru froze in place, unable to look away from the sight of her tip bending harmlessly against his chest.

"YOU HAVE TO BE BETTER THAN THAT!"

She shut her eyes and tried to drill the blade into him, even though every lesson and shred of technique imparted by Yamamoto was flying out the window. Her grandfather scoffed.

"DO YOU WISH TO DIE, CHILD?! RUN ME THROUGH!"

"Can't. . ." She whimpered, shaking her head. Her hands began to drip blood from her tenacious grip on the pommel.

Mitsuru gasped for air as the tears streamed down her face. Her body made one last guttural heave, one last desperate push before the blade shot through and her grandfather's body shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

"'Atta girl."

Mitsuru blinked lethargically as black stone and blue wall emerged blearily around Shinjiro.

She looked at him for a moment, before her eyes fell to the point of her foil driven cleanly through his outstretched palm.

"I knew you could do it," Shinjiro said, his breath wheezing past the feral grin on his lips.

She recognized the dissonance but failed to work through it, and whether from exhaustion or confusion, Mitsuru blacked out.

* * *

Shinjiro cursed as she fell. He had to choose: catching Mitsuru or pulling a bent foil out of his hand. Inevitably, Shinjiro decided Mitsuru had taken rougher falls and decided to remove the sword embedded in his hand. She landed on the ground with a soft thud as he grabbed the blade with his free hand and pulled it out with a grunt.

Shinjiro exhaled a caustic laugh as the blade clattered lightly to the ground near Mitsuru. He flipped his hand over in the light to inspect the damage and noted the aggressive blood flow-

_PRETTY PRETTY _

Shinjiro looked sharply over his shoulder and saw a squealing masked maya. The feral grin returned, albeit a bit weakly.

_TIME TO DIE_

Castor rammed brazenly against his brain and Shinjiro cringed as his persona's demands for blood grew louder.

_TIME TO PLAY BROTHER MINE LET'S PAINT THE WALLS WITH BLOOD_

"Boy," Shinjiro muttered wearily as he looked at the cowardly maya helplessly clawing at the corners of the room, "you are in for a world of pain."

He pulled the trigger, and Castor howled with joy as he smashed into the shadow. Shinjiro watched as his persona grabbed fistfuls of the shadow's skin and pulled it off like gift wrapping. He glanced back to Mitsuru, who still had not moved, as Castor pulled the reigns of his horse and with a splitting cry gnashed the shadow's paper-thin flesh between his teeth. Shinjiro left him to finish whatever bloodsport was left in the shadow's remains and stumbled wearily to Mitsuru's place on the ground. After briefly checking her over for any gashes caused by the impact with the stone ground, he hauled her up from under her arms and dragged her a short distance away to a corner where he eased her down again.

Castor disintegrated as Shinjiro fell back against the wall. He felt his back bump up against the cold ridges of the wall as he unbuttoned his jacket and slid down into a seated position beside Mitsuru.

_I'm full, and so tired tired tired._

Shinjiro wadded the coat under Mitsuru's head before letting his head fall against the wall behind him.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt her hand encircle his wrist, but thankfully the girl was so dazed that she didn't notice his surprise.

"Shinjiro, are you-"

"Yeah." He pressed her slightly raised head back down. Such an action could only be done when she was unable to experience outrage.

"Take a breather for now."

She needed no further provocation, and seconds after Mitsuru closed her eyes, Shinjiro tipped his head back and fell asleep upright.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

He would never admit it, but Shinjiro genuinely liked Mitsuru Kirijo.

It would have been stupid to assume, but Shinjiro had a pretty good idea that Mitsuru didn't loathe him either. Of course, their first impressions of each other weren't exactly what one could call positive. Even though she hadn't appeared incensed when Shinjiro had come barging into the Iwatodai dormitories demanding entry into what Shinjiro dubbed a cult, he knew he was destined to be on her shit-list for at least a month. Things didn't exactly get better right away, but they didn't get worse either.

As their time together grew, so did his collection of derogatory terms for her (some could be mentioned in her presence without serious repercussion, while others were strictly for personal use), and Shinjiro never missed an opportunity to remind Mitsuru that she was a pretentious snob. His jabs weren't mean spirited, nor were they thrown in Mitsuru's direction for any explicit purpose. However, even though he wasn't looking to start a fight per se, Shinjiro did have a nagging desire to find an identity behind the exterior of excellent posture and unwrinkled button-ups, and what better way to find it than to occasionally tap the glass and test for cracks?

He found to both his delight and annoyance that she was not easily offended. Of course, he crossed the line a couple of times and paid dearly for it when he did (he and Akihiko would grimace at the word 'execution' when it was casually mentioned in lecture). However, when Shinjiro's insults would fall on deaf ears or when she'd simply smile at him after he casually flipped a crass phrase in her direction, Shinjiro found himself thinking that maybe Mitsuru appreciated his efforts to reach her. Shinjiro wouldn't put such realization past Mitsuru, after all the girl was sharp, brutal, and the natural choice for the head of a worldwide corporation so it made sense that she understood his language.

Shinjiro had a feeling Akihiko shared the desire to gain some insight into what Mitsuru Kirijo the girl was like, but in a rare personality swap, Akihiko remained passive in this regard. There were several possible explanations for this, and Shinjiro expected each one comprised a fair amount of truth. One likely explanation was that since Shinjiro seemed to have a handle on things, Akihiko didn't need to annoy Mitsuru into some sort of human reaction. Another reason was perhaps Akihiko's unquenchable lust for self-improvement resonated well with Mitsuru's quiet determination to expunge the world of shadows, and no further probing was needed. Yet another possibility was that Akihiko _liked _Mitsuru, and not in the way that Shinjiro liked her. Shinjiro wisely did not bring up this rather plausible explanation to either Mitsuru or Akihiko.

After a while, and it didn't take long, Shinjiro realized his perpetual badgering of Mitsuru had become more of display of reluctant affection rather than a hounding for some shred of imperfection. Shinjiro liked the way she kept Akihiko in check, especially when she would step in to keep him from being pounded into the pavement by a Hell Knight after a cocky swing landed Akihiko flat on the ground. He liked the way she would elegantly thread together a rebuttal to a ridiculous statement put forward by a fellow classmate. Shinjiro liked that she accomplished these things without ever moving to gloat.

What he did not like was that Mitsuru remained a secretive person. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, of course he did and of course he would never vocalize such an obvious fact, but Mitsuru was mysterious. Even when she explained the origins of Tartarus to Akihiko and Shinjiro and why she became a persona-user, Shinjiro had to ask her point-blank. Not knowing why they were fighting bizarre enemies was stupid and dangerous, Shinjiro had had to reason. Mitsuru decided the reasoning was fair and justified and divulged the proper information, but her personal life beyond school and extracurricular activities remained elusive. It was implicit in the careful circumnavigation of topics such as family that Mitsuru would tell them if, not when, it was right to talk. The respect among them demanded nothing less. No, Shinjiro didn't like it at all, but he respected it.

So when he walked out of the dormitory that damp October morning, Shinjiro decided he liked that Mitsuru gave him the same respect by not asking questions. Akihiko's skull was too thick, too filled with pretenses that everything could go back to normal, but whether or not Mitsuru wanted to ask him to stay didn't matter. Shinjiro had made a decision, and Mitsuru had heeded it. Similarily, when he returned just weeks before tonight, she treated his choice with the same calm graciousness. Of course, he knew she was curious and concerned, but she still did not ask any questions.

* * *

The sound of an evoker splitting the silence caused Shinjiro to lift his eyelids. He saw Mitsuru wincing at something before he realized she was probing his hand. Shinjiro knew Mitsuru had a habit of looking unaproachable when she would meticulously check the work of her Dia spells, but judging from the grim expression on her face, she also had one hell of a headache.

"How's it look, doc?" He rasped, closing his eyes again.

He felt her fingers still for a moment before they continued to move firmly over his palm.

"You should have defended yourself," she answered curtly after a few moments of silence. "I could have killed you."

"S'funny, I thought I did defend myself. . ." Shinjiro mumbled, wanting just a few more minutes of rest. Mitsuru ignored him in lieu of more effective means of chastising.

"I don't understand what you were thinking. A Patra would have quickly remedied the situation."

"How do you know I didn't try it?" Shinjiro mumbled, opening his eyes again and raising an eyebrow at her.

Mitsuru frowned gravely at him as she returned his hand, and Shinjiro stretched his arms above his head and yawned.

"You _never_ use the items we give you, if you did there wouldn't have been a hole in your hand."

Shinjiro shook his head.

"I hate to break this to you, but there's no way some fairy dust was going to keep you from killing me."

"It was a Charm spell," Mitsuru insisted. "one easily broken by the score of items-"

"I know you like to pretend I'm some kind of idiot, and I appreciate that, I really do- but there's no way in hell a Charm or Panic could make Mitsuru Kirijo cry." Shinjiro hadn't said it with any bitterness or accusation, but when he saw Mitsuru's eyes flash he thought perhaps he should have.

Mitsuru drew up her shoulders, folded her arms, and defiantly set her chin in one seamless motion.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

After gaping at her for a few speechless moments, Shinjiro responded by covering his mouth with one hand and thoughtfully peering into a nearby corner. Inwardly he felt like bashing his head into the wall. He knew Mitsuru and how she handled situations where her mistakes would glare back at them like a blinding sun. Most times, she'd accept that her idea and methods had failed, and she would nail it to some psychological board in her mind and chide herself for being foolish. Other times she would firmly shut reality out, and Shinjiro would be damned if he didn't loathe the very fiber of her existence when she stepped into her mold of Kirijo pride and made ridiculous attempts to save face (as if Akihiko weren't enough to handle when it came to shit like that).

It had been a while since he'd been pitted against her like this, and in the past it had always been during a fight with a shadow. Something would go wrong with the tactics she would employ (it happened, but not often) and when Shinjiro would obey her command only to have it blow up in his face, she'd get pissed as though it were Shinjiro's fault. Most aggravating about such scenarios was that Mitsuru was exceptionally convincing; the way she'd phrase her sentences around 'you' and the way she'd accomplish covering her faults with unapologizing poise often tempted Shinjiro to step back and apologize.

He discovered soon enough, though, that if he wanted any kind of respect from this girl, he'd have to settle the score by speaking her language: arrogant, critical, graceful, and without respite. Not only did it work (the look on Akihiko's face each time he did it was well worth the withering glares Mitsuru would give him), but Shinjiro could tell Mitsuru's respect for him grew a little bit each time he tore apart her strategies and suggested new ones.

Now, he just hoped his inherent talent to be a complete asshole hadn't grown latent in his absence from S.E.E.S. (he sincerely doubted it), but more importantly, Shinjiro hoped his favored tactic would work when applied to such a personal incident.

Shinjiro returned his thoughtful gaze to Mitsuru for a moment before removing his hand from his mouth.

"Let me catch you up then: I come around the corner and see you, standing just a few feet shy of a shadow. I think 'there's something wrong here,' and call your name. After some interesting dialogue which results in you raising your sword and blubbering for me to stay away, I start to think that you and I are not communicating on the same plane of consciousness. The shadow gets closer to you, and when I step in to hack it to pieces you start tripping over yourself to get away from me."

Shinjiro nodded casually to the cut on Mitsuru's arm. "You were so distracted by me, you probably didn't even feel the little shit knick you, did you?"

Mitsuru closed her eyes and gave Shinjiro a profile of her smooth features.

"So here I am," he laughed, "trying to beat a surreal looking monster off your heels while simultaneously trying to convince you that I'm not some kind of rapist. You're not buying it, at least that's the gist of what I get when you cast Bufula and nearly knock me on my ass. Not sure how, but I forgot how much that shit hurts. I tell you to snap out of it and that it's just a hallucination and you then cower into a corner and cry out for help."

Mitsuru cringed and touched the bridge of her nose with her fingers, but it was too early to tell if it was an indication of her throbbing head or a cue that she wasn't liking where Shinjiro was headed.

Shinjiro stretched his arms above his head and spoke through an extended yawn.

"Then, and this is where it really gets good, after I tell you to snap out of it for what feels like the tenth time, you dive into me sword first with a god-damn war cry. I'm surprised I was quick enough to prop my axe up in front of me because otherwise you would have run me through. When you charge, the shadow comes at me as well. Now, I've got you pushing against my axe- good job for making me use both hands, by the way- and a puny shadow trying to claw my leg off. I politely ask you to pull your head out of your ass and you start to cry; mumbling something about how you _can't_."

He saw Mitsuru shiver in the darkness, but she remained silent. Good, he could keep going.

"At this point, and I'm not lying here," Shinjiro smiled widely as he put his hands up in mock surrender, "I'm scared shitless because I've seen you go through some pretty bad stuff, you know what I mean?" Shinjiro's mirthless laugh became a hacking cough. "Anyway, the shadow goes to attack again and I drop my axe on it's head with one hand and leave my other hand up, thinking my heart is a little more important than my palm. Apparently, and I guess I can see why, sticking a sharp object through my hand finally does the trick for you and apart from the priceless look of shock on your face, everything goes back to a quasi-normal state. . . Any of this ringing a bell yet?"

Mitsuru shot him a scathing glare; it was time to wrap things up.

"What I'm wondering, is after ten years of having a persona and nearly getting killed by a hodgepodge of freaky shit," His expression did not betray an iota of malicious intent but his voice was a bit softer than he intended it to be, "what could make you cry like that?"

He leaned back and waited for Mitsuru to gather her bearings.

"I'd almost forgotten how . . . astute you can be." She finally muttered, the appreciation in her voice hushed.

Shinjiro knew 'astute' really meant 'cruel,' and he offered her a small smile in condolence.

"I'm not Aki."

"Shinjiro. . ." Mitsuru began uncomfortably. "I'm so sorry. . ."

He rolled his eyes.

"I don't want an apology, hell I probably deserved it-"

"That's not funny."

"-but I would kind of like to know why you felt the need to run a god-damn blade through my hand."

Mitsuru let out the deep breath she was holding.

"We have recently encountered shadows whose manipulation abilities are considerably advanced." Mitsuru stood up and Shinjiro watched her face contort with what had to have been the head rush from hell. Shinjiro promptly followed suite and heaved his axe over his shoulder.

"Our June operation, we encountered a powerful shadow at- " Mitsuru's face reddened and she brought a hand to her ear to feign fixing a stray hair. Shinjiro leaned slight forward with a fascinated gape to examine the odd blush on her cheeks to which she responded with an indignant sigh. "The shadow was able to manipulate our thoughts and hold us hostage to contrived situations." She replied shortly.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, these shadows appear to have the same ability to access key parts of the mind such as logic, memory, cognitive abilities- and warp them. However, what is most concerning to me is that these shadows differ in their ability to peruse the human psyche in order use choose the most effective device to block one's cognitive thought process.

"So. . . to answer your question. . . I wasn't seeing you, in my mind." Mitsuru gave a frustrated sigh as smoothed out her skirt. "This sounds absurd, but from what I can gather what transpired was a distortion of memory, a very powerful form of mind control that only a certain strain of shadows can employ."

Mitsuru nodded to Shinjiro.

"I see you have a laceration similar on your face. Did you. . .?"

Shinjiro paused as the taste of sea air and the sound of laughter glided across his mind.

"Yeah," he decided.

"I see." Mitsuru said softly, looking pointedly away from Shinjiro.

"It could have just been sheer dumb luck," Shinjiro offered. "I mean, that shadow could have just been randomly picking our brains and toying with different synapses."

Mitsuru seemed to consider his words before she shook her head.

"It was much too calculated. I'm not sure if you experienced the same potency, but what I experienced was. . . unnerving. The background and the events combined together to create an extremely volatile environment which not only hindered my abilities, but put you in immediate danger as well."

Shinjiro mulled over that as he bent down and picked up Mitsuru's blade. He used his sleeve to wipe the wet blood off the blade before he passed it back to Mitsuru's waiting hand.

"The shadow back there was weak, it took one hit from me before ducking into a corner."

Mitsuru lowered her lashes in thought.

"That could mean two things." She stated after some time. "The first possibility is that perhaps these shadows are strong with mind manipulation but weak physically, which would imply that one would simply need to break through the mind control devices in order to defeat the shadow."

Her eyes flickered to Shinjiro.

"The other explanation is that the physical and mental abilities of the shadows on _this_ _particular floor_ are weak."

Shinjiro thought back to his delusion. The axe lying beside him at the picnic had been a ridiculous fluke, but had it not been for that detail, he wouldn't have been able to bring himself out of the illusion. He assumed Mitsuru had no such glitch in her situation, except perhaps the shock of feeling her blade penetrate flesh. After juxtaposing the two possibilities, Shinjiro knew the pattern was undeniable; the higher the floor, the tougher the shadow.

He could tell Mitsuru was coming to the same conclusion, but neither of them seemed particularly pressed to discuss the implications of such a reality at this point. They continued together down the hallway at a somewhat casual pace, and stopped only when they met the stairs.

"This is bullshit." Shinjiro remarked dryly as he looked down at his shoes. "How can something like a shadow twist images and make something like reality?"

"I'm not sure," Mitsuru replied, frustration lurking beneath her features. "It's not logical, but it's not impossible. For the time being, however, I think it's best we refrain from using our personas unless the situation absolutely calls for it. We still have at least twenty-two hours until the others return and we still need to find Akihiko," She said darkly.

"He could be anywhere." Shinjiro muttered, looking at the stairs. "I would say, 'let's hope he's on a higher floor,' but I'm not so sure that would be a good thing."

"Unfortunately, our only option is to continue moving up," Mitsuru's lips pressed into a reassuring smile. "I'm sure he'll be quite fine as long as we find him before the shadows do."

Shinjiro nodded and followed Mitsuru as she steadily climbed the stairs. When they reached the blue and black platform on the next level, Shinjiro glanced behind his shoulder as the floor below swiveled away before turning to Mitsuru.

"The shadows you guys ran into back in June. . . could they control more than one person at a time?"

Shinjiro watched Mitsuru swallow as she inspected the angle of her foil in the light.

"Yes."

* * *

Akihiko flew around the corner and nearly punched the wall in frustration upon seeing the emptied black-and blue toned corridor. She couldn't be far, he'd just barely seen her disappear behind the corner. With this thought placating him, Akihiko whipped around and made for the opposite end of the hallway. When he first saw her unmistakable eyes slyly peeking out from behind a corner, Akihiko was sure he was imagining things. He'd wound his way around the same disorienting floor enough times that the idea of seeing ghosts wasn't too far-fetched. So he had tried to look away whenever she'd pop around a corner, but a few deep breaths, a solid blink, and a teeth-grinding grimace later, she would still be grinning back at him.

In addition to her unshakable presence, each time she skipped hastily through Akihiko's line of vision, she'd get just a little bit closer and Akihiko would get a fleeting glimpse of the freckles on her nose, or catch the small line of the scar on her hand, or see the slightly imperfect outline of her teeth when she smiled. Every granular testament of her being would quickly and boldly stare back at him, only to swivel away with her squealing laughter. Akihiko soon found it impossible to not pursue her, even though he didn't know what he'd do once he found her again.

Just as he began to wonder how long he'd been running, Akhiko skidded to a halt.

Before him, the corridor stretched a few meters before the walls and floor abruptly ended in a flood of white light. As he slowly walked toward the light, Akihiko shivered in the crisp air and noted the floor was speckled and sprayed with windblown snow. Akihiko threw a suspicious glance behind him before he moved past the the edge of the corridor and into the blinding white.

His eyes adjusted to the brightness of the reflected light, and Akihiko took a moment to appreciate looming pines on all sides with a perplexed scowl. In a daze, he recognized the solemn song of a loon in the far distance as the snow crunched unevenly under his feet. He surveyed his surroundings quietly before his eyes dragged across a tiny figure in the middle of the clearing.

Akihiko's perplexed scowl deepened.

Standing expectantly in a purple coat and brown shoes with her short brown hair falling just above her shoulders-

"Miki." Akihiko tested, his voice quavering from something other than the cold air.

"What took you so long?" Miki chirped as she put her hands on her hips in mock reprimand.

Akihiko expected to feel something, anything, but emotion seemed to have abandoned him at this reunion.

She giggled at Akihiko's dumbfounded expression.

Akihiko took in a series of short breaths as he plodded carefully toward her, fearing her very image to be as fragile as the snow under his feet. She cocked her head and watched him approach with another twinkling laugh. As he knelt before her, Akihiko felt his shoulders sag with disbelief as he looked up into her brown eyes. Even as he sat hunched before her rosy cheeks and slightly winded breathing, he could name no emotion responsible for the sheen of tears forming over his eyes. Miki smiled at his glassy expression and Akihiko watched as the cold took their breath and dispersed it over their heads.

"Miki." He repeated as he held his gloved fingers up to her shoulder. When Akihiko's fingers hitched just inches away from her, he wondered if it was fear of shattering her small frame that kept him from embracing her.

"You're slow."

He recoiled.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

_Had some formatting issues with this one, so if anything is out of place please let me know. _

* * *

"You're slow."

Mitsuru took a slight step to the left, and Akihiko felt a bead of sweat drip slip over his bottom lip as he watched the bolt of lightning pound the now unoccupied space of pavement.

_Her point._

He could fix it, he could recover and attack. The thoughts quickly became nonsense as Akihiko's hand spanned the miles of darkness between his waist and forehead. The window for action, the one that only appeared when he already had his foot up and his fist forward, came and went through Akihiko's sieve brain. In the time it took Akihiko to register his ill-fated attempt to bring down the stoic leader of S.E.E.S, Mitsuru had already summoned Penthesilea, and the ice queen had sought her own retribution in the form of an ice attack.

He flung himself out of Penthesilea's line of attack quickly enough to avoid being hit directly, but the powerful spell caught Akihiko by the foot. He tripped and toppled ungracefully to the pavement with a groan.

_Nice footwork, dipshit._

Soon Penthesilea dissolved, and Mitsuru advanced on Akihiko as she readied for another attack, evoker in hand. Akihiko groped the wet pavement in search of his evoker when he spotted the familiar glint of the muzzle several meters away. Out of the corner of his eye, Akihiko spotted Mitsuru standing with folded arms. Only when Akihiko shot up and made a dash for his evoker did she begin to stalk his footsteps again.

Good, this might work.

As he made the dash to his evoker, Akihiko was careful to keep his steps evenly paced. If he timed it just right, the strategy forming in his mind could work, but only if-

_NO WAY, pal. NO WAY am I even touching that idea, you're on your own!_

Quit whining. Do you want us to win?

_Win!? I want to live, stupid!_

She's only going to let her guard down if we're out for the count.

_Well, when you put it like that the possibility of being frozen to death is suddenly very exciting!_

I need your help.

_. . . I hate the cold._

I know.

_You really think this will work?_

Only one way to find out.

Akihiko winced at the sound of Mitsuru's evoker firing, and he wrenched his eyes closed as the heavy handed attack of Penthesilea sailed into him. The ice hit him squarely in the chest and knocked him precisely where his evoker lay. Akihiko gritted his teeth in satisfaction.

"You've undoubtedly begun to see the futility of fighting elemental attacks without your persona," said Akihiko's elegant opponent. With her voice, the accompanying sound of confident footsteps drew closer. Akihiko quickly tucked his evoker behind his head and out of sight before holding his palms open behind his head. Mitsuru approached without kneeling.

"Do you relent?"

_Not a chance, gorgeous. _

Akihiko dipped a hand behind his head and brandished his evoker.

Mitsuru's lips formed a sudden frown.

"Polydeuces."

_Our point._

* * *

His eyes followed the blood as it trickled from his face before gently steeping into the snow. It reminded him of the snow cones he, Miki, and Shinji would get whenever they'd visit the city.

Thinking back on it, Akihiko considered his precarious circumstance was more likely to be someone's idea of a sick joke rather than some stress-induced aftershock. Had it been nighttime, Akihiko would have recognized it instantly; the same grove of pines, the same snowy plain. . . perhaps Miki's presence and the bright rays of the sun threw him off.

Akihiko moved to push himself up and felt his arms quake under the weight of his body before collapsing with a weakened grunt. It occurred to him that trying to think of something to do might help abate imminent death but the downed boxer could only look at his own hands pressing heavily in the snow.

Must have been a sword, Akihiko decided as he felt snowflakes waft intermittently onto his lips. The sting of steel on flesh wasn't a sensation easily forgotten. No, there was no question he'd been slashed, but the mechanics of the fact were glaringly absent. That was his own fault, though. Had Akihiko paid a little more attention, he might have been able to explain how the apparition had managed to cut Akihiko before he could realize it, but he was hopelessly stuck on the deja vu imparted by her voice.

Akihiko was sure that Miki had called him slow at some point in their childhood, so it wasn't what she had said that spun Akihiko's brain but rather her voice. When she spoke, he didn't hear the sing-song voice of his dead sibling, he heard the cool disappointment of one Mitsuru Kirijo. The memory of their first night training together had filled his mind, and Akihiko assumed that this poorly timed nostalgia had then given his assailant, Miki or no, the time to slice him from hip to sternum. She was gone now, and there were no footprints in the snow to suggest that she had ever been here.

His vision blurred, readjusted, and then blurred again.

God, he hated the cold. At least, thinking such things made sense at a time like this.

Akihiko thought of an orphanage caught between the lingering buildings of a city and the edge of a forest. He thought of snowball fights, igloos, snowmen, and a vast selection of winter joys that made each day's return to a warm fireside beside a brother and a sister feel like home. He thought of fire, of being pinned back while a child's screams shattered the December air, of silence except for the crackling and smoldering of wood, of running through a darkened forest, of tripping and cutting his cheeks on the snow-turned ice that had hardened under night's touch.

They found him lying still amidst a grove of trees, this grove of trees, snot and tears frozen to his face.

After they were moved to a new orphanage within the city, Akihiko couldn't be bothered to go outside and play with the other children during the winter. The teachers rightly assumed that this child had grown solemn in the face of trauma, and could not find joy where other children blossomed. The best thing that could be done to help him was to encourage him to have fun and play before he got too old to enjoy such frolicking, and to turn to the other cheek when he ignored them. In the winter, while the others built forts and snowmen, Akihiko burrowed himself away with a pair of boxing gloves and a torn punching bag.

Akihiko's eyes grew heavier as he watched red blott out every inch of white around him.

So when had he gotten so soft? When did complete loathing ebb into half-hearted resentment? It couldn't have been after Polydeuces' emergence- hell, his hatred of the cold had doubled after learning his persona's name and putting up with non-stop complaining during November and March. The image of a sly schoolgirl brandishing a gun filled Akihiko's mind. He normally would have considered himself soft for justifying something like a weakness, but maybe there was something to learning to accept his fallibility against the cold. Sure, it was unrelenting, unforgiving, and downright cruel sometimes, but ice was fragile, right? It might even melt given consistent warmth. . .

Akihiko smiled wryly into the snow. Sick joke indeed, and not lacking in detail.

Because even if Akihiko started to appreciate his weakness, or perhaps even enjoy the feeling it gave him (he definitely didn't), it did little to change the fact that he was and always would be weak against ice. It mattered little that he was starting to understand why he was prone to the cold, Akihiko remained crippled in its wake.

He shut his eyes, annoyed at a single snowflake caught in his eyelashes.

* * *

They rounded the corner together, and both registered shadow and Akihiko at the same time.

"Shinjiro-"

"I'm on it."

They split off abruptly. Shinjiro veered to the left and hammered into the exposed sword arm of the Onnen Musha while Mitsuru darted to the right with Akihiko in her sights.

A shattering scream filled the stale air, and Mitsuru took heed of Shinjiro's timed response by covering her head to avoid the spray of Castor's raging attack even as she ran to Akihiko. She dropped quietly to the ground and rolled Akihiko onto his back. Red on white, red on red, red on black stone, red on- too much for one Diarama to handle, Mitsuru's inadequacy stared back at her as her hands trembled over Akihiko's chest.

"Akihiko," she said loudly- no response. Mitsuru snapped her fingers inches away from his face- still no response. He was so pale, and he'd lost so much blood. He could die right here-

Mitsuru's hand trembled on the evoker, her finger wavering near the trigger. Would it work? No, it couldn't possibly- she was only one person with a limited amount of energy and even if she did everything she could she'd have to cast Diarama several times in order to stop the bleeding-

She pulled Akihiko's glove off with a single tug and felt his cold hand for a pulse.

Satisfied with the faint sign of life beating under her finger, Mitsuru grasped her evoker and quickly squeezed the trigger. Penthesilea materialized with her arms spread wide and weaved a Diarama spell into Akihiko's wound. As soon as her persona vanished Mitsuru dropped the evoker and retrieved a small vial of cauterizing medicine before applying it to Akihiko's stomach. Mitsuru continued the pattern, alternating her healing spells with mediocre medicinal items until the bleeding subsided and finally stopped. Her persistence having paid off, she spared an inquisitive glance over to Shinjiro's battle before deciding to linger with Akihiko a bit longer.

"Akihiko, can you hear me?" She asked loudly, leaning over him.

A moment of weighted silence passed before one his eyes sluggishly opened and made contact with Mitsuru's.

Akihiko blinked at her before wincing and turning away. Mitsuru frowned as she gently took hold of his chin and pulled his attention back to her.

"What's my name?" Her voice was too soft for this situation, much too yielding. Mitsuru made a mental note to avoid blatantly vulnerable tones in situations like these.

". . .'suru," he croaked back.

"This one's not backing off," Shinjiro called over casually to Mitsuru, the fatigue unmistakable in his voice. Mitsuru looked over to him as he summoned Castor, and noted a small grimace sweep over his features as his persona swung against the thick-skinned shadow. Mitsuru pushed the muzzle to her temple and Penthesilea planted herself gracefully over Akihiko, giving him one more Diarama before placing her swords upright.

_Go._

Mitsuru stood and looked at her persona for a moment before turning on her heel and slipping beside Shinjiro.

* * *

The long stem of a foil appeared at his side, and as Mitsuru pushed her blade into the shadow's torso Shinjiro took a reeling step back against the wall in search for a moment's respite. The damn Onnen Musha had dealt Shinjiro a solid hit over the head, causing a heavy stream of blood to flow from his brow and into his eye. He grimaced as he felt Castor lunge in anticipation and retaliate when Shinjiro didn't summon.

_let me out let me out let me OUT OUT OUT_

Shinjiro took a deep breath as he watched Mitsuru pivot and slide around the shadow's broadsword before dipping into an exposed underam and eliciting a surprised shriek from the shadow. Monster and girl were so close intertwined in combat, there was no way Shinjiro could direct Castor's attack with anything resembling precision. Shinjiro swallowed as he threw over his shoulder and ripped into the shadow from behind.

The Onnen Musha cried out once again, and as it raised its broadsword to slice Shinjiro in two, Mitsuru stepped in from behind and impaled her blade through the shadow's heart. The Onnen Musha stumbled forward, and Shinjiro rushed forward to met it with his axe and cleaved it in two. The remains dissipated into smoke, leaving Mitsuru and Shinjiro breathing heavily. Shinjiro watched Mitsuru glance down at her shoulder in annoyance as she examined a fresh cut. She looked up at him, and he looked away.

_PRETTY PRETTY IN BLOOD_

Mitsuru returned her foil to her hip and brandished what Shinjiro recognized to be a light cauterizing medicine. She took a step toward him-

"You're bleeding-"

"I don't care. Don't come near me with that shit." Shinjiro stumbled as he started away from Mitsuru.

Mitsuru paused and met this check with a scowl.

_RAM RAM RAM RAM RAM_

Castor charged against the walls of his cage, and Shinjiro could feel the nerves in his brain firing off desperately before his persona pulled them apart.

"I haven't the stamina to argue with you. You're obviously in pain-" She took a few more light steps toward Shinjiro. His fingers dampened as they curled around the curve of his forehead. Shit, it hurt so bad when Castor did this, he could barely focus on anything else around him. God, she was still coming toward him, still bugging him, if he could just get away-

_MORE MORE MORE LET'S FLOOD THE FLOORS WITH FRESH PRETTY BLOOD AND PLAY PLAY PLAY_

"It won't take me more than a few moments to-"

She closed the gap between them before he could retreat in time, and Shinjiro quickly dug his hand into her shoulder before she could come any closer. They both stood rigid with shock, both unsure of what line had just been crossed on whose side. His fingers remained sunk tenaciously into her shoulder; with Mitsuru looking down in shock and Shinjiro fighting the urge to shove her back and flee. He broke the stalemate first by disengaging his hand with a low groan and turning away sharply. Mitsuru stared at his back in astonishment, even as she took a small nonthreatening step toward him again, trying to understand-

"Shinjiro-"

"Don't, Mitsuru."

The softness of his voice stopped Mitsuru, and left her marooned in the wake of Shinjiro's unsettling desperation.

"Just. . . don't, okay?"

Mitsuru paused and then turned quietly, her eyes lingering on Shinjiro, before she walked away without another word.

Shinjiro's sigh of relief came out as a choke.

_YOU RUINED IT! IT GOT AWAY! YOU LET THE PRETTY BLOOD GET AWAY! HATE HATE HATE YOU I HATE YOU_

He dug his nails into his scalp as Castor's sustained fit cresendoed into a fresh wave of violence. A brilliant display of scratching, hammering, pulling, biting, tearing, shredding, and pounding flashed in his mind, leaving Shinjiro with only enough energy to slump to the ground and bury his head in his hands. His blood continued to drip thickly through his fingers.

* * *

_I don't like this._

Which part?

_All of it. The look in his eyes, the way his hand held you like a rusted trap, the blatant lies, the fact that you know what's happening and ignoring the warning signs of an imminent collapse. _

He is simply being difficult.

_He is fighting the urge to yield to a primal and broken force. Get too close and you shall only serve to whet the appetite of a monster. _

Shinjiro isn't a monster.

_I wasn't talking about the boy, and you know it._

Mitsuru looked down at Akihiko and watched as his breath steadily climbed through his chest and out his nose. She placed her evoker to her temple and pulled the trigger.

* * *

"Is he going to live, doc?"

Mitsuru looked up to see Shinjiro, appearing sufficiently exhausted and bloodied, looking down at Akihiko darkly. She responded with a neutral stare.

"He'll be fine, but we should move him."

"You're the boss," replied her companion as he hauled Akihiko up from under his arms and positioned him in a corner.

Mitsuru held out the cauterizing medicine to Shinjiro, and despite her attempts to avoid eye contact with him, Mitsuru couldn't help but meet his gaze when he slowly took it from her hand. She furrowed her brow slightly at the flash of guilt that passed over his dark features before he uncapped the bottle and began to apply the medicine to the laceration on his scalp. Mitsuru decidedly looked away, and it was impossible for Shinjiro to tell if she was angry or tired or sad. Right now, he really shouldn't care.

"I think it would be best if we rest in shifts," she said tersely when Shinjiro capped the bottle and handed it back to her.

"Fantastic. I'll be the first lookout." He planted himself next to Akihiko and Mitsuru noticed Shinjiro glower at the dried blood on his friend's sweater.

"Shinjiro-"

"Look, you're tired. You spent a good five minutes taking care of this poor fool," Shinjiro nudged Akihiko's shoulder with his own and earned a reproachful glare from Mitsuru "before you came in and helped me out. Just don't get lazy."

Mitsuru knew a peace offering when she heard one, but she wasn't sure how to tell Shinjiro that she didn't care about what had happened. She just wanted to know if there was any way to help him.

"You realize I've reached my tolerance with you ordering me around."

"Yep, I know," Shinjiro's voice strained as he none too gently sandwiched his coat between Akihiko's head and the wall. "now quit your bitching and go to sleep."

* * *

Looking at the ethereal blue light emanating from the gaps along the disembodied door, Minato Arisato yawned.

Lately, it would seem that his nights were not ending in sleep but rather cycling endlessly through filters of sunlight and nighttime without any rest. He could blame it on the demands of school, the nightly explorations of Tartarus, or the people in his life that for some reason enjoyed being with him, but the fact was that he had no desire divvy out culpability to anything.

Minato gnashed his teeth as he used both hands to rub his eyes.

The door stared back at him expectantly.

He should go back to the dorm and try sleeping again, he should read a book, he should watch T.V., he should walk the dog, he shouldn't be here. Not that the occupants of the room would be troubled with a nightly visit since time meant absolutely nothing to either of them, but Minato highly doubted the yellow-eyed mistress of the room would be willing to step away from her duties at a time not of her designation.

Minato tapped his foot, examining the door with sudden thoughtfulness.

The last thing he needed was another girl upset at him. Yukari was still giving him the cold shoulder after spotting Minato and Fuuka talking lowly after classes one day. In addition, Fuuka's trembling awkwardness and apologetic nature had made Minato want to perpetually thump his head against a hard surface. The zealous attendant Minato now sought however, did not appear to share the same social expectations of high school girls. Even if she did, there could be no harm in asking. . .

Minato slumped into the comfort of his bad posture before he lightly pushed open the door of the Velvet Room.


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm excited," he said, scanning the patch of blue ocean under the overhang of the cliff. "How far down do you think this one is? The other one was only twenty feet."

Shinjiro shivered, and wrapped his arms around his chest.

"This is stupid," he observed drolly. "I'm going to die."

Akihiko gave an exasperated eye-roll.

"The only thing you have to worry about is the undertow."

"I can't swim."

He glared evenly down at the water as he felt Akihiko's stunned gaze burn into him. He had merely claimed an inability, but both of them had heard the fear lacing the simple proclamation.

An uncomfortable silence came and went, before Akihiko lunged for Shinjiro's hand and took them both plunging off of the cliff and into the water.

As he fell, Shinjiro swore to never forgive Akihiko but the threat was rendered null when he felt Akihiko's tenacious claws sinking into him, refusing to surrender Shinjiro to the overwhelming undercurrent. Upon reaching the surface, choking and spluttering, Shinjiro reconsidered rescinding Akihiko's forgiveness, but decided against it as his friend towed him to the beach.

Shinjiro settled on kicking him in the stomach.

Akihiko just _laughed_.

* * *

Shinjiro had gone over each and every aspect of their current situation in detail, not neglecting to inform Akihiko that both Mitsuru and himself had fallen under the control of the shadows. Shinjiro couldn't be sure what Akihiko had seen in his mind or what tricks the shadow had played on him, but the outcome was clear - Akihiko was taking the news poorly.

Unfortunately, with the remnant of a blistering migraine still clinging to his brain and a destructive alter ego ballasting the dregs of cogent thought, Shinjiro had little sympathy left for his childhood friend.

"It wasn't real."

"I know that," Akhiko hissed immediately.

"Then what's the problem?"

"Nothing."

Shinjiro scrunched his nose as he rubbed his itching eyes.

"You're really busting my balls here, Aki."

Akihiko turned to him incredulously, the fine lines of exhaustion etched neatly under his eyes.

"What the hell did _I_ do?"

"You're being a little bitch."

Akihiko paled.

Typical.

Shinjiro continued casually, finding a small sense of glee from watching Akihiko grow still with rage.

"I have a pretty good idea what you saw, but I don't really care to know the details. I won't put up with you moping over it, though. So please, as a favor to me, spare me the brooding and spill it."

A pregnant silence followed.

"You. . . are a colossal asshole."

Shinjiro smiled benevolently.

Akihiko gave a grudging sigh as he ran a hand over his wounded chest.

"Mitsuru told you about the shadows we faced in June?" he asked after another lengthy silence.

"More or less."

"Hn. . ." said the wounded champion.

"She mentioned the shadows used the same tactics."

"It's a pain in the ass, Shinji. They'll make you do anything."

Shinjiro carefully tapped a finger to his cheek.

"So I've noticed. How did you get rid of the hallucinations last time?"

"Sheer force of will, I guess. After a minute or so of being controlled, things just started to feel out of place."

Shinjiro raised an eyebrow.

"Well, at least it wasn't as bad as almost getting cut in half."

Akihiko instantly turned pink as he mumbled something along the lines of 'that's debatable.'

"Are you _blushing_?! Just what the hell happened there? I leave for a few months and you turn into a thirteen year old girl."

"I'll tell you later," Akihiko lied, his eyes flitting to Mitsuru beside him.

He turned back to Shinjiro.

"When it happened to you. . . Could you communicate with your persona?"

Shinjiro looked at him, a lazy vexation shifting his features. Akihiko hummed.

"Polydeuces complains. . . a lot. But I couldn't hear him at all during that whole escapade."

"Can't say I really tried," Shinjiro said, quickly looking away. He nodded to Mitsuru, slouched beside Akihiko.

"We should probably wake her up."

* * *

There was something very big on the other side of the wall.

Mitsuru gaped at the crisp white silk cascading over her wrists as she padded silently down the surreal corridor swathed in bright pinks, nauseous oranges, and sour greens. The bright colors did nothing to hold her attention, and Mitsuru's fingers lingered on the finely spun silk around her wrists. Mitsuru came to a sprightly stop. The funeral kimono? How strange, Mitsuru thought as she stretched the fabric and held it to her eyes. Yes, it was the funeral kimono from her mother's cremation ceremony, but why on earth was she wearing it here? This was no place for formal attire. Mitsuru gave a detached sigh and dropped the fabric. No matter, she'd just have to be certain to be careful. Mitsuru's steps grew hesitant, and she clutched the sleeves of her kimono in her fists. Mitsuru knew she was not alone, and could feel the invisible pressure of another sentient being crowding her senses.

Still, she continued on. The edge of the wall was slowly approaching, leading Mitsuru to wonder if she was dreaming or if she had simply grown out of feeling fear. The elongated limbs of a tremendous shadow began to lazily poke out from the other side until the shared torso of a luminous dancer emerged. She opened her mouth to scream but felt her voice die prematurely at the back of her throat. The shadow did not walk, but seemed to wheel effortlessly to her, it's sword lifted to meet Mitsuru between the eyes. In her fear, Mitsuru tripped on the hem of her yukata and tumbled to the ground. She turned to face her attacker, shivering-

A streak of blue flew into the shadow, and the monster was lifted off the ground before being slammed into a wall. Mitsuru instantly recognized her bizarre savior from earlier that evening. Except- there was a definite shape now. Instead of a silhouette, the phantom had two slender blades and wore battle armor on her chest, limbs, and head. Mitsuru was not sure if she should be relieved or terrified, but neither reactions were forthcoming. It was almost as if she-

_Even the darkest of dreams shall not harm you while I am by your side._

A woman's deep voice hastened the blood in Mitsuru's veins.

The two dancers, still caught in their inescapable embrace, lept up from their defeat and stormed the figure looming before Mitsuru. The sound of a steel colliding against iron caused Mitsuru to flinch away. The armored maiden pushed her arm forward and sent the shadow soaring again with a slight hit to the chest. It landed again against the wall and let out a blood curdling shriek.

"What are you? What do you want?"

The woman turned to her, and as Mitsuru looked up in the black shadows of her helm, she could not help but tremble.

_I am thou, and thou art I. _

Mitsuru shook her head.

"I don't understand-"

Mitsuru blinked as the figure before her began to flash in and out of her vision. The shadow regained its footing, furious and ready for a winning strike-

_You need only call my name, and I shall steel you against all enemies._

"Your name? But I don't know your name!" Mitsuru cried out with tears rimming her eyes. The woman dissipated completely, and the shadow tore through the empty space with Mitsuru in line with the tip of its sword. She scrambled back as the blade sliced into the sleeves of her white kimono.

_My name is. . ._

"I can't hear you!"

The dancers pulled their shared limb back for the final blow.

_My name is-_

Mitsuru ripped at the soft fabric on her bed as she jolted out of the nightmare.

A few deep breaths later, Mitsuru peeled the covers back and rubbed her eyes as she slipped out of bed and down to the kitchen in search of a midnight snack. Sleep had come, but she was uncertain if she preferred it over being awake. Even though, after the events of the night, Mitsuru wasn't surprised that she'd had such a vivid nightmare. More perplexing to her were the dynamics of her persona, whose identity she still knew little about.

Her grandfather had nearly given up on her as a potential persona user when Mitsuru had been unable to summon without the use of a neuron-transmitter. Whenever she evoked her persona, the figure never had a shape, voice, or name. It was always a simple apparition that would dangle before her and vanish within seconds. Thus, her grandfather had assumed that the forced methods of summoning were not sufficient for experimentation. Mitsuru accepted her grandfather's abandonment of her gracefully, and suffered the devastating consequences of being inadequate in silence.

Mitsuru slipped into the kitchen silently, opened the refrigerator door, and plucked an apple from the back.

Months later when her father decided to tour the base of Tartarus, she had requested to join him out of a mixed sense of curiosity and worry. There had been no conscious decision to summon her persona when a shadow had threatened her father's life, and though Mitsuru felt drained by the experience, her persona's appearance elicited a revitalized sense of worth in her. Her convalescence ended quickly when Mitsuru realized that her persona was still extremely immature and still lacked a shape or name. In the nightmare, though, her persona had been rock solid until Mitsuru began to question her presence.

The agonizing flip-flop between strong and weak was going to drive her mad.

Distracted by these thoughts, Mitsuru did not feel the sudden coldness in her hand as she reached with her opposing arm to turn on the faucet. It was only when she went to hold the apple under the stream of water did her eyes grow wide in white-eyed terror.

In her open hand, the red apple glistened within a smooth block of ice.

_Can you wield me?_

* * *

The triumvirate sat in a line against the wall.

"If the shadows here were more of a generic strain, we might be able to stay on one floor until the end of the Dark Hour," Mitsuru picked up her foil as she turned and smothered a yawn into her shoulder. "Unfortunately, that is not the case. We need to get out of this block."

"Well, judging by the shape Aki's in, picking up the pace is out of the question. Unless _you_ want to carry him."

"I'll be fine," Akihiko replied shortly.

"Racing through the remaining levels is foolish, to say the least. We'll need to implement a routine, just like we have with Arisato," she stated, slipping her foil into her belt and adjusting her evoker. "We'll start by working our way up the next two floors. Shinjiro will pursue physical attacks, I'll use elemental, and Akihiko will provide support."

Akihiko groaned, and followed up with a word of protest until Mitsuru shook her head at him.

"Just for the next two floors, Akihiko. I'm being generous."

* * *

"I don't think Asano's fan club is going to forgive you for denting those perfect cheek bones of his any time soon." Shinjiro's shoes clipped lightly against the steps as he strode after Akihiko. He noted the moon's inverted smile as it hung from the sky and shoved his hands into the warm folds of his pocket.

Akihiko was in a good mood, and despite feeling a bit queasy Shinjiro couldn't help but take advantage of his friend's rare light-hearted demeanor. Mitsuru had still been pushy, but even she wasn't immune to the good spirits of the night, and had proven herself somewhat flexible when she swayed out the door with a helmet on her hip and a wry smile on her lips. Of course, she had been threatening them both with painful death should they be tardy through the smile; regardless Shinjiro had spotted something genuine in her demeanor and was savoring the victory.

"Tch," replied Akihiko glibly. "I feel like I cheated. . . guy went down in the first round and didn't get back up."

"Then again," Shinjiro continued blithely, ignoring Akihiko's comment, "after watching you decimate him, maybe they've decided to transfer schools and join your fan club."

"Shut up."

Shinjiro's laughter grated against his own ears.

Akihiko and Shinjiro wound around the corner of Shirakawa Boulevard and into a quiet side-street of Port Island, where they spotted Mitsuru removing her helmet and latching it to her motorcycle. Akihiko had been cracking jokes the entire walk over, but suddenly drew himself up and became serious upon seeing Mitsuru. Shinjiro snorted.

"Approach with extreme caution," Mitsuru said as they came close. She handed each of them an extra Patra. "This is a residential neighborhood."

He felt as though his heart was ready to explode against his chest, even as he gave a nonchalant shrug and focused his eyes to the putrid green skyline.

"Don't have to tell me twice," Akihiko drawled as he popped his knuckles.

Mitsuru gave him a soft nod before turning to Shinjiro.

"You look ill. Do you need a moment?"

* * *

An eruption of noise turned Mitsuru's attention to a few steps behind her. Shinjiro stood, axe at his feet with one palm flat against the wall and one hand pinching the bridge of his nose. Akihiko stepped to him immediately.

"Shit, Shinji!"

_Get out of here, Mitsuru._

Mitsuru pivoted away from Shinjiro and pulled the foil from her hip.

"It's the shadow. There's nothing we can do for him until we eliminate the enemy."

"Damn it," said Akihiko as he pulled on a bladed fist.

"Counter-attacks only," Mitsuru snapped. "Otherwise, stay on support while I handle the Magi." Mitsuru returned Akihiko's searing glare with a command. "Do it, Akihiko!"

She refused to placate him with another word. Mitsuru flipped the tip of her foil up as she vaulted into a running attack. Behind her, Akihiko swore before sending Rakukaja in her direction.

* * *

Each step, a mile.

Each mile, a costly eternity.

Just where was he going? What was waiting for him at the end? Shinjiro's teeth rattled with giddiness. Thoughts like those didn't come into his mind often since he was fine with his role as passive inquirer, but a bottomless feeling of nervousness pooled in his stomach and nagged at his confidence.

Akihiko continued to boast and kid, and Shinjiro found he could not rip the easy smile from his lips. So he let it hang, morose against the background of blood and coffins.

Mitsuru's voice echoed throughout the empty alley.

"You should be seeing a wide street approaching on your left. The shadow will be at the end. Exert _extreme _caution."

"Yeah, yeah, we heard you the first time," Shinjiro mumbled, earning a light laugh from his companion.

* * *

Mitsuru sought the floor for cover as the devious Magi clasped its hands together. The fire pulsed through the air above her before it singed her back. She looked back at Akihiko as a cracking bolt of lightning from Polydeuces sent the shadow sprawling. Mitsuru pulled herself back up, and with her foil pinched firmly between her fingers, she dove into a straight attack.

* * *

"Akihiko-" Her urgency reached above the static.

"Yeah. . . I'll be okay," Akihiko muttered, propping himself up and jumping back on his feet.

"Here's an idea; try moving when you see an iceberg spinning toward you."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying," Shinjiro said smugly, pressing the evoker to his temple.

* * *

Pulling the arm on the recovery, flesching on the opponent's retreat, coiling into a preen while out of distance - her mistakes were growing in number. If she could hammer the shadow to half-strength, then Akihiko might be strong enough to help her finish the job.

Akihiko's healing wave gave her a slight boost of energy. She looked over at him fleetingly and saw his gaze turn to Shinjiro, who was now cradling his head in between his hands. She watched his lips move in what could either be mindless blather or heavy breathing. Mitsuru swung back to the shadow, narrowly missing a fireball to the chest.

* * *

Castor basked in the grisly moonlight and lifted his lance, aiming between the shadow's eyes.

Polydeuces rushed in with an assist, debilitating the shadow with a Sonic Punch and awarding the kill to Castor. Polydeuces vanished once Castor cut the shadow's head from its body and lingered to watch as it fell in two separate pieces. Blood prompty began to flow into the gutter.

A moment later, the head rolled to the ground; its eyes still twitching.

In the last building, in the farthest window, a woman cradled a head of brown hair and doeful eyes close to her own pale face.

They saw her at the same time.

Castor blazed, his lance gleaming with a macabre blend of blood and moonlight.

Shinjiro bent before he crumpled, trying to tear the silent scream out of his mouth.

* * *

A gust of cold air whirred behind her, and Mitsuru moved to turn after someone shouted.

Something cracked against the back of her teeth, causing her head to lurch forward.

Her hands immediately went to her throat. She took a step forward, trying to retain the sensation of her tongue still intact in her mouth when something jerked into her back, causing her to go rigid before her torso became flaccid.

Mitsuru's body followed the ribbon of blood pouring from her throat to the ground.

Despondent, Penthesilea only whispered-

_You should have listened to me._


	7. Chapter 7

The hair on his arm stood fully erect.

Just a few feet beyond the shelter of the modest street awning where he shifted his feet, a torrent of rain railed against the exposed city streets. The storm had rolled in a few days ago after a brewing typhoon had made sluggish landfall against Port Island. The city had nearly come to a halt. Despite Port Island's attempts to foil his gumption by closing school, shutting down transit, and blaring obnoxious warning sirens every six hours, undefeated underclassman Akihiko Sanada took to the streets with the gym firmly routed out in his mind. Shinjiro had yawningly pointed out that Akihiko could very well wait the storm out in their shared dorm without skimping on any basic training. Akihiko took to the idea with a disgruntled shrug, but after tolerating the _thump thump thwack thump thump thwack _of the punching bag for an impressive hour, Shinjiro had hand-delivered Akihiko to the doorstep with a warning: Don't come back until you're too exhausted to make any noise.

Akihiko swallowed the thick humidity of the tempestuous August night before attempting to smooth the agitated hairs. Once he removed his hand, the hair on his arm returned to its acute position. Across the sidewalk, a streetlamp flickered.

This was stupid.

Akihiko laughed nervously and rubbed his hands together for warmth. The deep vibrations of rain hammering the steel frames of parked cars and streetlights deprived of light funneled his breathing to a mere whisper in his ears.

As if this was anything to be compared against the multitude of coffins sprinkling the streets every night at midnight, or the Biblical sight of bodies of water transmogrified into blood. So what if there was no lightning to be seen and no thunder clapping against his ears? Power outages, though usually reserved for hotter days, were still frequent occurrences. There could be another strong electrical current in the air other than the storm-

The streetlamp died suddenly and left Akihiko in the dark, setting the stage for the brilliant flash of white lightning that flooded the sky for three terrifying seconds.

_I am thou, and thou art I. _

Akihiko stiffened as his breath billowed before him.

Judging from the tremor under his feet and slight tingling dancing through his blood, that last strike was close-

_I, the immortal son cut from the sacred sky of Gemini, torn asunder from the mortal brother, cloven from the breast of-_

Another splintered blade of lighting opened the sky, and this time it split open the pavement directly before Akihiko. Something whistled shrilly against his ears, but Akihiko found his hands unable to cup against his ears in pain.

There was thunder rolling within the palm of his hand; embracing, suffocating, crushing him. It was going to swallow him whole-

_YO! Are you even listening?_

Akihiko jerked up in surprise.

What the-

_Look, I know this stuff isn't exclusively mine, but you could at least look a little impressed when I short out an electrical grid. Honestly, I'd even appreciate something trite along the lines of "holy shit cool" or "wowee." You have no idea how long I've been waiting for the right moment to manifest, and I'm quite frankly disappointed by your reaction._

Akihiko ogled the intermittent flares of light flitting across the sky as the voice in his head trilled. Even as the rain continued its cacophony, Akihiko seemed to have little trouble hearing the voice. Truly, there seemed to be only one rational explanation.

I've lost it. My brain was fried in a lightning storm, and now I can hear voices.

_Good thing it didn't fry anything vital._

Akihiko, feeling strangely and suddenly unperturbed by his proximity to the electrical rods of death, looked on as a tepid bolt of lightning fizzled close to his left.

What are you?

_Think of me as a personification of what you think and feel but never say. And until you can summon me by name, just think of this - _a vibrant yellow line of power loomed in the distance - _as your power and me the means by which you access it._

A robust pillar of electricity exploded before him. Akihiko released a breath he did not know he was holding before he nodded, a grim smile gracing his mouth.

Lightning, huh?

_That's right. Just say the word. . ._

A siren began to wail.

_. . . and we'll set the world on fire._

Akihiko sank to the ground, his head aching and his lips forming around a foreign name.

* * *

A long bold line swinging before him drew Akihiko's attention away from Shinjiro, whose writhing and tremoring would not cease no matter how loud Akihiko would shout at him. He had been caught focusing too much on trying to reach Shinjiro, and scarcely had enough time to shout Mitsuru's name when Castor launched the ambush. At the sound of Akihiko's voice, Mitsuru began a slow pivot in his direction.

Castor's lance broke into the space connecting her jaw to her neck before her eyes found Akihiko.

_Eight seconds. . ._

Mitsuru's foil slipped from her hand as she gripped her throat.

Castor's arms quivered as he twisted the lance from her neck, thrust it into her back, and pulled again.

She pitched forward, the scarlet fabric of her ribbon waving after her in two tattered pieces.

_Eight seconds, and that girl's gonna die._

"Polydeuces!"

Akihiko propelled himself forward, Polydeuces racing a hair's width beside him.

He caught her against his chest, one hand instantly cradling her neck while his arm carefully held her back. Polydeuces hovered above them, and his Diarama spell weaved deep into Mitsuru's wounds.

Akihiko choked back a wave of nasuea. Where flesh had been seconds earlier, his hand felt cool space and warm blood spilling out from Mitsuru's neck. A low groan followed by a high pitched wail caused Akihiko to tighten his arm around Mitsuru before he took them to the ground. Once he had situated himself as a shield over Mitsuru, Akihiko looked up to see Castor, uneasily pacing about Polydeuces before he separated and took off toward the cunning Magi. He looked back down at Mitsuru and gently tilted her head to observe the healing process festering in her neck. If the slowly closing hole was not enough, Akihiko took grim comfort in the violent rasps rattling her chest and emanating from her torn throat. With his free hand, he summoned Polydeuces' Diarama again, Akihiko's eyes now latched on Castor's daunting lance pirouetting toward the shadow.

_Take down Castor before he rips the head off your shoulders._

The aforementioned persona began to corral the Magi giddily.

Polydeuces hovered silently, drill elevated and vacant eyes locked on Castor. Akihiko slipped a mild rejuvenation bead into Mitsuru's mouth and Polydeuces aided with another round of Diarama. He stole another glance at his nearly dead comrade and made a note to keep the brawl away from her before Akihiko stepped away and popped a mild healing bead into his mouth.

Once Polydeuces vanished, Castor lurched back toward Akihiko, his lance scraping tauntingly on the ground. Akihiko mustered a fierce glare and spat a string of curses before he swerved away from Castor's forward barrel and launched Polydeuces toward the Magi. The flaxen-haired deity obediently clipped a few fingers off of the Magi, but did not remain quiet for long after.

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! I TOLD YOU TO ATTACK CASTOR, STUPID! Why do I even BOTHER with you, you petulant child?!_

Attacking his persona is attacking him.

Polydeuces did not respond, though despite his blatant ire with Akihiko, Polydeuces continued his the smooth course of attack on the Magi and drilled a few wide holes into the shadow's face before dissipating. Akihiko lunged upon seeing the Magi stumble in recovery, and pulled back a winning strike when he felt something scoop into his midsection and fly in the opposite direction of his fist. Castor skipped forward, Akihiko a rag doll on the broad side of his lance. The inertia of the flight whipped Akihiko's legs forward as Castor swiftly slammed him into the wall and pinned him against his lance.

_Akihiko, what happens when you turn your reflection in the mirror upside-down? Or if the reflection is backwards?_

What the hell does that have to do with-

_THE ANSWER IS NOTHING! NOTHING CHANGES! Shatter it, invert it, it doesn't matter! Whatever shape we take, you and I will always be on either side of that mirror._

Akihiko rolled as Castor's lance broke between the slabs of tile on the floor.

_Walk away from that reflection though, and you're playing a whole new game._

Akihiko froze, watching as Castor's attention became lost on him and focused back on the Magi.

Polydeuces was none too gentle in his prodding. It was obvious the direction he was guiding his master's thoughts, and Akihiko couldn't help but think about the positive feedback loop from hell. The more Shinji tried to push his persona's tendancies down, the more vigorously Castor pursued them. So it came as no surprise the drugs Shinji took exacerbated the problem. Akihiko turned to Shinjiro, currently inert on the ground. He looked to Mitsuru, forgotten and still fighting for her life on the other side of the room.

_Ask yourself, who's going to hurt him more? Us or Psycho Horseman over there?_

"Son of a bitch," Akihiko snarled.

He flipped the muzzle of his evoker to his temple.

* * *

In a spray of ash, the Magi disappeared. Akihiko pried off the bladed fists on his hands and popped his knuckles, ignoring the heavy exhaustion fogging over his senses. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shinjiro stir. He looked over at him for a moment, before he decided to approach.

"You okay?" Akihiko asked as he heaved Shinjiro up from his coat lapels.

"Yeah. . . I think so. . ."

Akihiko nodded.

"Good." Akihiko reached back and landed a walloping fist on Shinjiro's cheek. Shinjiro folded instantly back with a sharp groan, and Akihiko collapsed beside him like a domino falling in time. It took several moments for the two of them to recover, what with Akihiko winded and on the verge of blacking out and Shinjiro experiencing a variety of painful sensations in his head.

"Feel better?" Shinjiro finally asked, sniffling slightly.

"Yeah," Akihiko sighed after a contemplative pause.

Shinjiro's head drooped to his side, and he looked at Akihiko as the blood bubbled out of his mouth.

"Oh good," he said lightly, drunk with pain. "'Cause I gotta tell you, Aki, I don't feel so hot."

"Yeah well, drugs will do that to you," Akihiko grumbled.

Again, the chamber was filled with the sound of erratic breathing.

"What?"

"The drugs you're taking," Akihiko replied thinly, turning his head slightly to Shinjiro as he wiped a flake of dried blood from his nose. "Don't expect me to feel sorry for you because of some side-effects."

Shinjiro smiled at him - and then giggled - and then clutched his sides as he outright laughed, the blood freely spitting out of his mouth.

Akihiko looked on, dumbfounded.

"_Side effects_? Think again, pal- it's the withdrawals."

Shinjiro decided to let Akihiko mull over that little epiphany for a moment while he pulled back and spat a lump of saliva and blood. After not receiving a response from the typically reactionary Akihiko, Shinjiro looked over to find Akihiko out cold. A cruel chuckle later, Shinjiro had pulled himself up and begun searching for his axe.

His fingers caught on a sliver of silk.

Shinjiro brought the red fabric to his eyes, his gaze finding the rest on the other side of the chamber beside a girl's lifeless body.

He rolled onto his stomach and retched.

* * *

Minato pursed his lips as his companion added another teacup to her collection of seventeen porcelain cups.

"That's odd," Elizabeth cooed. "I don't feel as though I'm exuding charm. Is there something wrong with this drink, too?"

Minato simply stared.

"Then again. . . I am starting to feel a peculiar sensation."

Indeed, everyone was staring at Elizabeth and her impressive assortment of teacups. The waitress had tried to take them away, but Elizabeth had all but insisted she keep them to bolster the effect of the serum. After six cups, the waitress had tried again, but this time Elizabeth had laid a motherly hand on the girl's wrist and had told her patiently that she'd rather keep the cups. The waitress had not attempted to clear the table again.

". . . About this last request," Minato said frankly, placing his hands in his lap.

Elizabeth glowed.

"Isn't it delightful?"

Minato choked on his pre-determined articulate response.

"Well, I'm sure it is, but . . . I'm afraid I reached Cocytus at a bad time. I only made it to the cusp of the first level before the Dark Hour ended."

"How unfortunate."

"Yes. However, what's more unfortunate is that my teammates were not as lucky as I and did not escape Tartarus in time. I'm worried they may have entered Cocytus moments before the Dark Hour's end and are now trapped."

Minato took a deep breath.

"I put the safety of my friends over anything else, Elizabeth. I'm sorry, I need to cancel."

Elizabeth clicked her tongue as she wagged a gloved finger in front of him.

"You do recall the verbal contract you entered upon your acceptance of this task, do you not? The request explicitly stated that you, Arisato Minato, explore the fifteen floors Cocytus alone."

"I'm more than willing to accept the consequences."

So began the showdown. Elizabeth drew back into her seat, her beguiling eyes narrowed to cat-like slits while Minato's intrepid blue eyes remained fixed lazily on her. Elizabeth's lips tightened as her body began to shake. Minato cocked an eyebrow.

A tiny giggle popped Elizabeth's facade, and that tiny chirp of laughter gave way to a sharper, more ostentatious laugh that somehow retained a keen grace. Those patrons of Chagall Cafe who had politely averted their stares previously now gaped unapologetically.

An involuntary sigh of relief nearly escaped Minato's lips.

"You're taking this better than I thought."

Elizabeth waved a hand before she pinched the handle of her teacup and raised it to her lips.

"To human is to err, yes?"

"Close enough."

"Ah. Fortunately for you, I've wisely made an exception for this particular request and put a contingency plan in place should you fail to complete it alone," Elizabeth smiled kindly, gently placing her cup on its corresponding saucer. "You needn't default on your task."

The young wild card licked his lips surrepticiously before quietly placing a balled fist to his lips.

"Contingency plan," he repeated numbly.

"I'm being terribly vague aren't I? Let's see. . . if, for any reason you are unable to complete the request, then those on your team may complete it in your stead. Of course, this is null and void should you yourself expire in the course of attempting to fulfill the task."

"So as long as I'm alive, anyone on my team can complete this request?"

Elizabeth raised her cup to him, her pinky finger protruding in an aristocratic fashion. Minato scratched the bottom of his chin softly.

"This contingency plan . . . I'm guessing it's a new concept? I don't remember seeing it in the written request."

She touched a finger to her nose with a wink.

"My master was quite the tough customer to convince. He argued your contract did not include a third party participant, and served simply as a reminder that you take responsibility for each of your actions. Even though I managed to find a loophole, there simply wasn't enough space on the ledger to divulge the contigency plan in its entirety."

Minato trembled.

"Perfectly understandable."

"The inherent ability of the wild card incorporates each of the arcana as the source of its power. My point was simply that you have not completed _any _of the requests alone - you've had the aid of your social links to give you strength. You are so intimately entwined with the arcana that their fate is inextricably tied to yours. Thus, even if you were not physically present, you would still be held accountable for their lives."

"The devil's in the details," Minato conceded good-naturedly.

"Nonetheless, he made an exception."

"Oh?"

Sly old man.

"But, in the true spirit of the word, he will not be granting me this liberty again."

"I see."

Thank God.

"In the end," Elizabeth began with a petite sigh as she lifted her teacup to her lips, "it is your decision, but I should caution you from canceling hastily."

"Why?"

"The settlement I reached with my Master regarding this request obligates me to close Cocytus upon your cancellation. Once closed, your comrades would be sealed within the block. Besides," Elizabeth peered into her cup, acknowledging her liquid reflection with a slight frown,"Cocytus is a work of art. To renege on such an epic quest is nothing short of slander."

Minato could confidently say he did not like where this conversation was going. At this point, making a case for the lives of his friends to the mysterious attendent was laughable. While Elizabeth seemed to have the limitless capacity for wonder and annoyance, she was not easy for empathy.

"Do you consider the rest of Tartarus 'art' as well?" Minato queried, his fingers still playing near his mouth.

"I suppose I could," she waved her fingers casually. "Tartarus' aesthetic quality rests soley on its random nature. Cocytus is similar to this erratic make-up, although I abandoned mirroring Tartarus' behavior in the early stages of design and opted to fill its halls with an elite group of shadows specializing in mind control. Consider it a signature on a time-intensive work of creation."

Minato nodded, a tiny smile masking his writhing insides.

"You built Cocytus."

"Naturally," she replied in her signature nonplussed tone.

Her eyes grew slightly dull as she drew a lazy finger around the rim of her mug. "I consider it to be one of the highlights of my career. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to collect cloak-and-dagger type shadows? It makes for the most vibrant of headaches, I assure you. "

She placed her hands flat on the table, and gazed at Minato quaintly.

"You understand then, how close this particular endeavor is to my heart, and why I'd like to see it filled by a talented persona-user. . . even if it isn't you."

That particular ephiphany must have manifested in Minato's otherwise deadpan expression.

"I'm afraid I fail to see why you are so concerned, you shall still receive a reward even if you personally do not complete the request."

He didn't do it a lot, but at that Minato laughed, shielding his eyes as a strange dread tickled his chest.

". . . Thank you?"

The silver-tongued mistress paused with shining eyes.

"That's the first time a guest has ever thanked me."


	8. Chapter 8

Shinjiro ran his thumb over the pommel of Mitsuru's foil.

He arched his neck to snatch a glance at Akihiko's dark shadow, growing darker as it graced the wall of an adjacent room only partially in view. The stellar athlete had offered Shinjiro a muttered excuse for leaving the room- something about the possibility of floating suitcases of healing beads or stamina aids.

Let him be pissed off.

Shinjiro looked down at Mitsuru absently, and his eyes moved thoughtfully away from her tangled hair and bloodied blouse.

The laconic outcast bent the blade of the foil slightly, frowning at its malleability. A flimsy piece of rubbish like this didn't stand a chance in Tartarus. Maybe if it were real, it would pack a kick, but this sliver of metal was barely enough to poke a hole through a paper bag, much less a shadow. Instead she brought a god damned practice blade, with a joke of a guard and a grip that was in serious need of some super glue.

He looked back to the stressed shape of the foil in his hands and resisted the urge to snap it in half.

She could have at least brought a saber.

* * *

"Aki."

Akihiko turned to meet thick black sunglasses and a raised can of Mad Bull.

"What. . ." Shinjiro took a deep breath, and for one moment Akihiko thought he might vomit, "_the fuck_ are we doing here?"

He snorted in response, smoothing a crease in his slacks with his hands.

"Will you take those off? We're inside for God's sake."

Shinjiro ignored his life long friend's request and jammed a finger in his ear.

"Are you nervous?"

Akihiko turned to him just enough to send a thoroughly withering glare. Shinjiro smirked, the sunglasses shining with reflected light.

"For her, I mean."

"Do you even hear what you're saying?"

"She's going up against an A-rated saberist," Shinjiro said, shrugging.

"So?" Akihiko pressed.

Shinjiro made a muted slurping noise and smacked his lips.

"Kirijo's a foilist."

Akihiko flushed pink.

Shinjiro took another sip of his Mad Bull, smothering the predator temptation to grin.

"Honestly, I'd expect you to come here knowing these sort of things."

"What's got you so interested?" Akihiko snapped defensively, turning to him. "I woke you up at 11 this morning and you swore to me you didn't give a shit about any of this."

"Still don't," Shinjiro arranged his limbs around the uncomfortable seat and kicked his feet up onto the seat before him as Akihiko indignantly took in the group of fencers entering the arena. "But if she's going to lose, she'd better do it right."

By the time the preliminary rounds were finished and direct eliminations had begun, Shinjiro had fallen fast asleep with his head pointed to the ceiling in a ghastly wide-mouthed snore. His sunglasses remained fully intact and the Mad Bull can cupped loosely in his fingers. Akihiko issued a jilted sigh, not bothering to give his long time comrade a retaliatory nudge or kick. Instead he focused in on Mitsuru as she carefully ran a hand over the body of her saber.

Akihiko shifted his industrious attention to the red-headed swashbuckler at the end of the piste. An elderly man stood beside her and appeared to be talking slowly and deliberately to her, using gentle hand motions.

He knew, better than any of her opponents probably, what kind of fighter Mitsuru Kirijo was. In the two years they had been fighting together, she had never stooped to crush an enemy. Mitsuru had never haggled for her life on the ground, never had to wrest the life out of a shadow. The demons and monsters that plagued this city at night could only bring the flame-fearing heiress to a half-wilt at their worst before she would exterminate them.

Akihiko watched Mitsuru interact with her coach through a hazy veil of thought. Akihiko doubted her style of surviving the time of the Dark Hour would compare much to a simple fencing tournament, but could she reasonably divorce winning a match from walking away with her life? They made it look easy, but Akihiko suspected the only one who remained unmarred by the taxing pressure of a double life was sound asleep beside him.

He honed in again on Mitsuru's brief coaching session with the elderly man, and only just caught a glimpse of her set expression before she shut the mask over her face and took her position at the end of the piste. Akihiko turned briefly to the opposing end, just now remembering the presence of an opponent.

A tall brunette with cropped hair and an impressive double chin lumbered silently to her starting mark. Akihiko squinted down at his copy of the register of opponents- Namiko Awesaga, A-rated in saber and so far undefeated in Port Island by the looks of it. Akihiko dug his elbows into his knees and leaned forward, thoughts of bloody midnights and cleanly wiped sabers picking his mind as the Director called for the duelers to stand en garde.

Shinjiro gave a pronounced twitch in his sleep.

After the bout began and the two fencers displayed their oppossing tactics, Akihiko made a rather startling observation. Mitsuru's opponent was lackluster at best and as coordinated as a herd of cattle. This was no surprise, after all Akihiko's first impression of the girl had only been reinforced. Rather, it was the fact that Mitsuru could have easily glided past her and struck her but chose not to was what perplexed the youth. With all the subtlety of a tidal wave, Awesaga's sheer brute force wasn't something to be underestimated. Akihiko had fought guys like that before, mostly big guys with a lot of rage and no finesse or tactical theory behind their hulking swipes. They went down easily enough when you finally penetrated their sheer enormity, but choosing an effective method to bring them down was the real challenge. Was he simply overlooking her strategy? Just what was she planning?

Mitsuru enticed her opponent with a half step, and Awesaga wholly took the cue and stepped in, throwing herself into the attack. A fool-hardy move ripe for capitalizing on-

"Take the shot, damn it."

-Mitsuru retreated back and instantly Awesaga barked in frustration, cutting the air with her saber in a rage. Akihiko hummed in frustration. What he didn't understand was why Mitsuru felt the need to retreat from a jittery and ungraceful adversary.

She'd set up a beautiful tempo, and Akihiko imagined Mitsuru's prim displeasure seeing it marred by Awesaga's atrocious footwork. Hell, the fact that Akihiko could tell it was sloppy was disconcerting enough. It couldn't be helped- Mitsuru made another feint, the cutting edge of her blade aimed for Awesaga's shoulder. She parried and lunged, landing a point to Mitsuru's shoulder.

Akihiko sat back in his seat, arching his back restlessly.

Awesaga stalked smugly to her end of the piste, and Mitsuru's soft nod in the direction of her elderly coach caused Akihiko to pause.

The dance started anew.

_Half step retreat half step advance advance advance retreat half step retreat half step advance. . ._

Each movement was a fine stitch in the tapestry Mitsuru was weaving. Despite having lost a another point and being two down from Awesaga, Mitsuru maintained the tempo pattern she had set up. Akihiko furrowed his brow. If she kept it up, though she wouldn't be able to recover for a win. Awesaga had a two point advantage and didn't show any signs of letting up.

"Something's off."

Akihiko looked over to see Shinjiro's naked face. The crushed Mad Bull can sat purposefully beside him, while Shinjiro's sunglasses lay folded neatly in his lap. His clasped hands were raised to his lips, and his dark eyes narrowed on the scene before him. Down on the piste, the fencers were taking a brief rest before the remainder of their bout.

Mitsuru was smiling at her coach.

"I don't know, but I have a feeling she isn't finished."

Confirming Akihiko's suspicions in a most punctual fashion, Mitsuru stepped back onto the strip and settled herself into her starting pose. When she started moving at the onset, she seemed as though she was using the same tempo, but upon closer inspection, Mitsuru was adding in jumps and lunges to the equation, pushing Awesaga a little bit further each time before she took the pressure off and started it again. It began softly, with the lithe foilist turned saberist gently putting on force and backing Awesaga into a corner before quickly removing the stress.

Awesaga rocked on her feet, being well-adjusted enough to realize her opponent had only been setting up a trap in the previous round and was more interested in trapping her than scoring a few touches. Off balance, Awesaga could only stagger back as Mitsuru herded her to the end of the piste. Awesaga's left leg swung behind the white line, and with a lunge Mitsuru ensured that her right leg followed.

"She just pushed her off the strip," Akihiko's cool compatriot noted listlessly. "That's pretty cold."

"If she's dumb enough to fall into it, she deserves it," Akihiko said clapping, the smile on his face growing incrementally larger.

The slaughter escalated, Mitsuru's brutality growing ever more explosive, and at the moment Akihiko thought she had the match squarely in her favor, the pressure was gone.

Mitsuru returned to her initial tempo.

Akihiko laughed incredulously, unsure he could bear watch Mitsuru come so close to victory and then relinquish control. Awesaga seemed just as astonished as Akihiko, and like a tortured animal recently uncaged, she made a long lunge for Mitsuru-

The light went off- Mitsuru's touch.

"Picked her off on the way in," Shinji muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Akihiko mimicked his display.

Awesaga's body language was growing visibly more agitated. Mitsuru hadn't done anything this round to scare her, she'd been effective enough in the last push to do that. This was all Awesaga's work now. Again, the ever aggressive fencer ran into Mitsuru, and again Mitsuru hit her as she ran in. So the carnage ended- Mitsuru 15; Awesaga 12. Mitsuru had defeated an A-rated saberist, and she'd done it without her opponent even knowing how.

"She's good," Akihiko said brusquely, a content smile brightening his serious features as he watched Mitsuru shake Awesaga's hand graciously. Her adversary appeared too surprised to be bitter.

"She's scary."

"Ain't she?"

They shared a laugh.

* * *

"This isn't your fault."

Shinjiro found her eyes with a weary smile, amused by her reaction upon seeing the heavy bags under his eyes.

"That's the best you could do?"

She crossed her arms to match the no-nonsense tone, and instantly reminded Shinjiro of something out of a terrible cop show. She'd be an excellent interrogater- able to bring grown men to their knees begging for mercy; driving them to confess crimes they didn't commit. To be fair, though, he'd be a hell of a deviant criminal for her to deal with. She'd probably spent hours trying to figure out what to say to him, poor kid.

Shinjiro met Mitsuru's stalwart glare.

Better not make this any harder than it had to be.

"Mitsuru. . ." he said softly, shifting in his seat atop of the hospital bed. "If you had to, if your life depended on it-"

"I do not find you amusing, Aragaki."

Mitsuru's spitting response hit him seconds before she spun out of the room, paying heed to close the door on her way out.

Shinjiro was left alone.

"Guess it's not that funny, is it?"

The room was silent.

* * *

Daichi Amada was a cruel man.

Mitsuru leaned into the tight curve, her motorcycle striking sparks against the vehicle to her left. She ignored the choice words issued by the driver and sped boldly to the stop sign before braking hard.

It had taken her an entire month to collect the information he had requested, a span of time unheard of in the world of Kirijo efficiency. If she wanted to make excuses, she could easily say that the task she'd undertaken for a former ally was far from simple. She'd had to scrounge every last inch of her familial influence to reach a collection of obscure organizations to piece together the life of a stranger.

She took the next turn with slightly more considerately, but accelerated too soon out of the lean and nearly laid her bike down on the sidewalk. A young man whistled appreciatively at her.

Mitsuru had gotten too close. An unforgivable mistake for the future incumbent of a worldwide corporation. More selfishly, the last thing she needed was an additional burden that added to Mitsuru's all ready sleepless nights.

At first, she didn't read the feeds. She would receive emails, faxes, letters in the mail even, and file them in chronological order with sharp disinterest. It wasn't any of her business, nor was it any of his.

The stack of photocopies, visas, receipts from vacations to the shore, creche attendence sheets, began to take root on a corner of her desk.

The pile on her desk grew to such a size that her curiosity overwhelmed her talent to quash sentimental instincts, and one night, in the midst of studying for her Trigonometry final, she plucked the first white paper on the pile and began to read.

She swung around two cars whose drivers were chatting idly at a stop sign and grimaced as she clipped one of their mirrors to dodge a cyclist dashing through the intersection. She tucked lower into the seat, pleased at the straight length of concrete stretching before her.

He had never asked anything of her, even now when lived off of the grid and outside the jurisdiction of modern comforts, the only thing he sought was the truth about the woman he killed.

It started with Daichi Amada.

Mitsuru shifted into fourth gear, relishing in the roar of engine even if it did little to suffocate her thoughts.

He married a woman by the name of Akane Soejima, who took the name Amada and six months later gave birth to a son, Kentaro Amada. As Mitsuru greedily read about their lives, their financial struggles, the hospital reports began to emerge. Akane hospitalized with bruises from a fall; Akane seen by a doctor for minor bruises on her arms and neck; each one simultaneously occurring with Akane's prenatal check-ups.

She realized, and subsequently ignored the uneasy but growing attachment to the story.

The volume of Akane's hospital records grew in frequency and severity as Mitsuru worked down the pile, and just when she thought she was about to reach Amada's birth certificate, the medical portion of the paperwork was punctuated with a bold, dark period. Daichi, like most alcoholics, lived a life of quiet and slow suicide which emerged publicly for one shameful night and was succinctly covered away by his heavily pregnant wife on the night of his death. Liver failure.

She pictured Shinjiro's smirking reaction to the record: _"classy son of a bitch"_

Mitsuru regarded that afterthought with passive contempt.

Akane gave birth the following week. After finding Amada's birth certificate and a two or three documents revealing a few happy vaccinations and occurence of cholic, the hospital records ended for a joyous seven inches. Mitsuru paperclipped the misery and strife into a neat stack and filed it away in her drawer. She greedily took the pile of reports from the creche (_Kentaro-chan loves the stuffed puppies, Kentaro-chan is very kind to the girls, Kentaro-chan needs improvement on his mealtime manners, Kentaro-chan does not listen to the grown-ups, etc_.), the weekend trips to Yokohama grew in number as did the receipts from ice cream parlors, movie theaters, amusement parks, zoos. As Kentaro grew older, the holidays spread to Sapporo, Kyoto, Nara, and even branched out to Taiwan. Mitsuru loathed peeling these papers from their group, dismantling those short years and reducing them into something to be compartmentalized, something empircal she could put on paper.

She loathed going through them because she knew they had to end.

Mitsuru came to a reluctant stop at a red light, and watched a man lead his dog thoughtfully across the intersection.

After a night of binging on information, dawn broke through her window at last with Mitsuru's Trigonometry materials still in her bag.

Three documents remained. Akane's death certificate, the police report (including Amada's statement, unedited by the Kirijo Group), and a letter from Captain Kurosawa officially stating that no investigation was required. Mitsuru gave a weary, humorless smile- she could almost read the hesitation in his handwriting.

Mitsuru restacked the files so that the lives of these two could be deciphered, organized, and packaged into a neat report. She left her room, ate a modest breakfast, and set off to pass her test.

She had finally arrived. Shinjiro was propped up against the wall, right where he said he would be. Mitsuru took a deep breath as she steadied her bike. She caught Shinjiro's eyes tracing her legs as she swung them over the bike, and fixed him with a sharp glare.

Mitsuru popped her helmet off without a word and clipped toward Shinjiro, acknowledging him with curt efficiency. Behind them, the night's traffic swirled with sirens and speeding cars. With the grace of a professional, she held out the bundle of papers to her former teammate and friend.

"What do you hope to gain with this?"

"You've got an affinity for the French. . . read any of Sartre's stuff, _mon cherie_?" He asked, taking the papers from her and slipping them into the breast pocket of his large coat.

Mitsuru glanced down as she crossed her arms tightly across her chest, her patience waning. Her body language served as a spark of irritation goading Shinjiro on further and he tilted his head coyly.

"You know what he thinks about the afterlife- what happens when we die?"

"Do _not _patronize me."

Shinjiro stopped to run his tongue over his bared teeth. He paused and the hollow grin flickered to a smirk.

"_Nothing,_" he whispered venomously. "You, me, that punk over there- we're worm fodder. All you are. . . is what you do," Shinjiro pressed his hand his chest and Mitsuru heard the paper crinkle beneath his heavy coat. He pivoted away, not bothering to look back at her as he bade farewell.

"I like the leather. . . Nice and tight," the leer in his voice shone through the darkness, even as his silhouette began to blur into the walls, "miss the boots, though."

* * *

"Shit."

The crushed soda can rattled away after he gave it a half-hearted kick.

"Shit."

A more meaningful swipe with his foot.

"Shit, shit, _fuck_!"

Minato rushed the can mid-rattle and gave it a solid punt. It sailed into an arc before making a slight tapping noise as it landed at the end of the street.

He sighed, feeling utterly unsatisfied with abusing the small piece of debris. The next route was unavoidable; assemble a rescue team and pray to God that those three were still alive. If they weren't dead yet, Elizabeth would now personally see to it they struggled for every last inch of their lives.

_Ho hum looks like you're in a bit of tight squeeze._

I can get out of it, I always do.

_How do you plan to do that? _

Elizabeth keeps a compendium.

_I don't think that's a good plan, Ace._

Your advice has given me nothing but grief and a couple of broken ribs. Why should I listen to you now?

_If demon lady suspects you of meddling, who's to say she won't haul off and slit their throats herself? You know how antsy she really is. That's what I'd do anyway, after I maybe messed with them a little-_

Igor wouldn't stomach it.

_Whatever helps you sleep at night._

What am I supposed to do? Show up at Tartarus with three body bags and wait outside hoping I don't need them?

_Hooey, talk about a morale tanker. _

She's got me in a vice. I have to play the game she set up, which means using the compendium.

_You seem to think that compendium governs heaven and earth. As I recall, it's what got you here in the first place, Ace._

Minato sighed.

_Well that and your greed - both are growing pretty ambitous in size, by the way._

Focus, please.

_Sorry. Try using resources outside of her jurisdiction. As much as it pains me to say it, you're starting to use your personas as a crutch._

Loki.

_Hmm?_

How do I know you're not just saying this to trick me?

Minato reached the dormitory and placed his key in the door, shivering as his persona made a pleased sigh.

_It's hard to trick someone just as conniving as me, Ace._

* * *

Akihiko returned to the room to find it filled with sand.

Shinjiro stood with his back to him, admiring the desert. A cloud of dust swirled past Akihiko as he came to stand at his best friend's side. He looked down at Mitsuru, who remained in the same position as he had left her, and then groaned as he looked to the red horizon.

"If she's here," Shinjiro muttered. "and you're there, and I'm here. . ."

"Don't be cute, Shinji."

Shinjiro whistled.

"Looks like we're in this particular nightmare together."

Meanwhile, a scorpion scuttled in the wind and Mitsuru opened her eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

_Twenty-five, twenty-six -_

God, four of them? How could she have been so careless? A tight knot formed the old woman's chest.

That better just be shock, Makasini Sotō reminded her body, because now was certainly not the time for a heart attack. Makasini shifted the weight of the toddler in her arms as she stumbled through the snow-covered field. Makasini was stronger than seventy-five year old women, but nonetheless she found herself longing for her days as a young mother when she had made habit of carrying two children in her arms with an additional babe on her back. Now is certainly not the time for a trip down memory lane, thought Makasini.

"Pretty," commented the small tot in her arms. Makasini did not need to turn around to see the object of the child's fascination.

Behind her, a luminescent hell was jubilantly devouring the wood and metal of a humble orphanage. A damned kitchen fire - some clumsy oaf had spilled oil on an open flame and the rest had spiraled out of control. She'd deal with the idiocy of the kitchen staff later, Makasini thought as she trammeled through the heavy snowfall. Right now it was absolutely imperative that she get an accurate count of her charges and prevent them from freezing to death until more help arrived.

Makasini nearly stepped on a girl weeping in a mound of snow.

_Twenty-seven._

The old woman leaned over as much as her frail body would allow and hauled the girl to her feet.

"Stand up, child. There will be time to grieve later."

"Sotō-sama, where's Sanada-chan? S-she was trapped in our room and I-I couldn't get the door to open someone pulled me out of the before I could-"

Makasini felt a cold chill run down her spine as she dragged the sobbing girl behind her.

"Keep moving and stay quiet, child. Just try to stay warm until help arrives."

Makasini quieted her thoughts as she spotted the group of children and adults waiting along the wooden fence at the end of the field. A group of wise adults had collected a small pile of blankets in the midst of the flurry to get out of the building and were now distributing the blankets among the children. She tried to look past their fearful eyes and tear-stained cheeks as she recounted the numbers, hoping they would somehow negate the number she knew in her head; the one she knew was correct.

"I can't find the Sanadas or Aragaki-kun," the young caretaker's teeth clattered from the cold. "Sotō-san, I'm worried that they're still-"

"That's enough," Makasini said sharply, gently transferring the child in her arms over to the young woman before she ushered the small girl behind her into a group of children bunched together.

"The children need to keep close and share what blankets we have."

"Y-you're leaving?"

Makasini pointed to the lane on the other side of the field as a small parade of flashing lights began to pour through.

"Have you gone deaf, girl? The fire department is here; I'm going back."

* * *

Sanada-kun made twenty-eight.

She watched as fountains of water sprang forth from the firehoses and onto blackened wood; Miki's screams still fresh in her ears.

"M'am?"

Makasini turned sharply, the tears in her eyes clearly mirroring the orange of the fire.

"Were there any other children unaccounted for?"

"Yes," she murmured, not breaking eye contact. "A boy."

"I'm sorry-"

"Not sorry enough. Now find that boy before he freezes to death in the woods, I'm going to search for the other child."

* * *

Her cautious optimism nearly exploded in her chest when she saw a young boy standing rigid in the field behind the slowly dying flames of the orphanage.

"Aragaki-kun!"

His back was turned, and Makasini's voice did not seem to reach him. Of a sudden, Aragaki began to run, leaving Makasini at a loss for words for one moment before she too started a plodding run toward him; her old bones cracking and popping in protest.

"Stop, Aragaki!"

Aragaki charged on, running as fast as his legs could carry him.

Makasini felt a void of fear come on - her body could not possibly keep pace with a youngster's run. She prayed for a godsend-

- And promptly received. Aragaki took a wrong step and tumbled over the sheer mass of snow. Makasini quickly caught up and sank her motherly claws into his shoulders. He scrambled to leave her hold, but was powerless against her seasoned hands.

"Enough! That's enough!"

Exhausted, he finally went still in her grip.

"Good God, child," Makasini heaved as she fell to her knees, keeping Aragaki steady. "Why would you run like that?"

He shook his head, the tears spilling out of his eyes as his mouth trembled. Perplexed and utterly spent, Makasini followed the young orphan's eyes.

Over the years, Makasini realized that the only sense still fully intact was her common sense. The rest; sight, smell, sound, taste, touch, all had quietly abandoned her through the years. Now, however, even Makasini found it difficult to fathom how she had overlooked what had so disturbed young Aragaki. The field that neighbored the orphanage had been occupied by a couple of horses, one of which was an elderly black stallion that had garnered the adorations of the children, particularly Aragaki. The fire must have jumped from the orphanage to the stable and its inhabitants. The stallion had broken through its holding and was now ablaze, trumpeting and storming the field in a terrible agony.

She remained transfixed as it continued its tortuous gallop through the field until finally the horse collapsed to the ground, the fire slowly eating through its flesh.

"I couldn't even help him," he whispered.

Makasini Sotō, the stern but beloved headmistress of a now incinerated orphanage, knew the importance of words to a child. Because she knew so well how words could impact a child, she said nothing. She simply removed her overcoat and placed it around the boy's shoulders as the flames curled and died.

She would tell him about Miki later.

* * *

Akihiko stared at Shinjiro as Shinjiro looked down his nose at a decaying twig buried partially in the white sand some feet away.

His anger had ebbed into frustration, and then quickly to fatigue upon confronting a new environment, most likely filled with its own variety of terrors.

With no words left for his longtime friend, Akihiko turned from Shinjiro and made for Mitsuru. As he passed him, Akihiko caught Shinjiro's eyes as they moved from the ground to the distant horizon.

* * *

"Good to see you awake."

That was not the voice of her persona.

The blood drumming through her brain made it nearly impossible for her to fully open her eyes. When she finally did, she couldn't tell who was addressing her.

"Can you stand?"

It was Akihiko. She couldn't tell by the sound of his voice, nor could she find his face against the unapologetic sun weighing down on her. The feeling of leather gloves against her wrists gave him away.

There was sand in her mouth, so Mitsuru simply nodded. The gloved hands encircled her wrists and Mitsuru was slowly pulled her to her feet and was nearly went sprawling back when met with the desert around her. Akihiko's supporting arms remained steady behind her as the rush of blood to her head came and went and the heat pressed evenly around her.

"Easy, just take it easy."

"I'm fine," Mitsuru mumbled. She focused her attention on removing the ribbon constricting around her throat but found in its place the strange texture of dried blood on her skin. Mitsuru's eyes followed the uneven crimson stains from her neck to her abdomen. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing the world around her to solidify.

After a moment, Mitsuru planted a foot into the white sand and slowly turned to the pillar of support behind her.

"What happened?"

Akihiko squinted back at her with a subdued pause.

"You got knocked down."

"By the shadow?"

Akihiko seemed to deflate in the heat.

"Not exactly."

* * *

"Who am I and where. . ."

He looked to the angry sun in search of his answer. It dipped behind a butte evasively and behind him he heard the hushed voices of Akihiko and Mitsuru.

"Where am I going?"

The wind simply roared in reply. Shinjiro's gaze remained fixed on the horizon as the sun pulled hot and thin tears from his eyes and the familiar constriction he felt whenever he pulled that trigger, whenever he closed his eyes to sleep, began to twist around his heart.

It wouldn't be long before he turned up.

* * *

The quiet researcher smelled of too much hair gel. Shinjiro pondered the bespectacled science rat and his slicked back hair as the man expertly removed the needle from Shinjiro's arm.

"Expect erratic bouts of lightheadedness. Nothing to worry about, it's simply the stimulus settling into your subconscious state."

Shinjiro raised an eyebrow at the fresh pockmark in his arm.

"How many other people has this trial been used on?"

"Less than ten."

"And?"

The researcher's beady eyes remained downcast as he snapped the latex from his hands.

"Our subjects have had a tendency to disappear after initial doses. As a result, our data is unstable."

Shinjiro made a dramatic roll of his eyes.

"How comforting."

"This department doesn't even technically exist so recruiting subjects is tricky, to say the least."

"Explains why I haven't heard much about the downside."

Whether the researcher intentionally ignored Shinjiro or was simply too busy taking notes on his dour subject remained unclear for a few awkward moments before Shinjiro switched gears.

"When will I see results?"

"A few days," he answered immediately.

"You'll start hearing things."

* * *

_Who am I and where am I going?_

He couldn't see-

Shinjiro scrambled for the seatbelt, his fingernails catching and tearing on the sharp jagged metal around him.

He pulled and it sank deeper into the seat, tighter around his waist as the cloaked monster continued its steady path of destruction toward him.

Around him, the repeated bludgeoning of the car left a smear of bright red across the broken windshield. As the glass disintegrated bit by bit, so the blood began to drip. Where was it coming from? He couldn't see, God, why couldn't he see anything? A spray of glass blew into his face and he turned away.

The disheveled beast threw its force upon the car once again, as the last of the vehicle disappeared in a muffled crunch and tear.

The rampant demolisher emitted a sharp cry.

Shinjiro went very still.

He could see it now - an embattled stallion hoofed absently at the shrapnel littered ground, its black eyes glittering on Shinjiro. He looked beyond sheer size of the equine attacker and saw only the horse's gruesome appearance. Patches of its black coat were ripped and still flapping from its body revealing a network of dried ligaments and torn muscle. A heavy trickle of blood was dripping from its nose, and a section of its front hoof appeared to missing. The horse's skull lay bare; a striking white in the night-

Shinjiro's eyelids wavered as a wave of nausea overtook him.

_Who am I and where am I going?_

The horse trotted in a restless circle, snorting and grinding its teeth.

"I don't know who you are," Shinjiro murmured. "I don't know."

The stallion gave a violent rear and another shattering cry.

_I AM_

Shinjiro abandoned his attempts to extricate himself and began to pull deep desperate breaths from his lungs.

_I AM THOU_

He shut his eyes.

"No."

The faintest of whispers brought the horse's thundering hooves crashing down over his head-

* * *

The basin was brimming with cold water.

Shinjiro held the edge of the sink as he looked at the reflection in the mirror.

He should turn the faucet off soon.

Only children dreamt in such cryptic images. That was the conclusion since the last time Shinjiro had dreamed anything had been ages ago, and as such he would have dismissed the nightmare as the random firing of synapses in his brain.

_who am I where am I going_

Shinjiro plunged his head in the freezing water.

There was one very interesting flaw with his conclusion – the voice of his tormentor, the one that so chilled him to the bone in his nightmare, did not dissipate with consciousness.

Just what the hell is going on here?

_Where are we going?_

What are you?

_Lost._

Shinjiro pulled his head out of the water and looked beyond the haggard reflection in the mirror. The water doming in the sink slipped over the edge and pooled onto the floor.

"Castor."

_I am I am I am._

Shinjiro smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

* * *

"Looking for something?"

The soft footfalls in the sand came to a halt.

He glanced back and saw Mitsuru looking frightfully normal without her ribbon. Her white blouse was a collage of smudged imperfections – blood, dirt, sand – none of it comforted him. A short distance away from her was Akihiko, who appeared to be bordering on lunging for Shinjiro's throat and passing out. Shinjiro turned away before his eyes could wander back to Mitsuru.

"Shinjiro. . . forgive me."

His teeth grated together.

" 'The hell are you babbling about?" He asked wearily.

"Two years ago," he heard her draw a deep breath. "I turned away when I should have listened to you."

"Well isn't that just downright comical," Shinjiro muttered, wincing as a burst of sand grazed his face.

"I've had enough of this insolence, Shinjiro. Look at me."

Shinjiro whipped around and took a large advance toward Mitsuru. In the corner of his eye, he saw Akihiko start, but the confident teen was abruptly halted by one look from Mitsuru.

"The _one time _I don't want a fucking apology from you, you deliver. Excellent work as usual, Kirijo."

"What happened?" She whispered.

"Castor went berserk - surprised?" he replied sharply, still high with annoyance.

"Shinjiro," Mitsuru shook her head, her eyebrows pressed into a gentle scowl.

"I want to know what happened to your persona – why he is what he is."

Shinjiro took a dazed step back, fixing Mitsuru with a grave look.

He looked to Akihiko, who was slightly closer to him now. Shinjiro proceeded to march to a nearby stick before he plucked it from the ground and began to draw a line in the sand.

* * *

He was an idiot.

Akihiko resolved to stare at his feet. He was too embarrassed to look Shinjiro in the eye after Akihiko had realized what effective blinders he had worn since the day Shinjiro came storming into the Iwatodai dormitories, claiming to have a persona at his beck and call. Akihiko had the potential, didn't he? So it was perfectly reasonable for Shinjiro to have the potential since he and Akihiko had been so close in their childhood - they certainly had a wealth of similarities, naturally Shinjiro would have the same capacity as Akihiko.

Akihiko swiped at the sand with his foot.

Stupid.

No doubt Mitsuru had been suspicious of Shinjiro's abilities since day one. Regardless, she allowed the chance to prove himself even though he wasn't exactly "team" material. Why?

His question was not answered, and the void which Polydeuces typically filled with glib responses opened wide for Akihiko. There was no point in calling his name. He wasn't there and he hadn't been there the last time Akihiko had needed him.

Shinjiro spat into the sand before clearing his throat.

"After that first dream, I went back to the lab. They tried to sell me the idea that the nature of my persona was a by-product of the artificial summoning process,"

Shinjiro winked at Akihiko.

"Awful nice of them to say, eh?"

Akihiko glared at him, the sun in his eyes.

"The truth is," Shinjiro murmured as he returned to drawing in the sand. "He's broken - and not because of some drugs."

His work finished, Shinjiro dropped the stick in his hand and returned his gaze to the horizon. He stretched his arms while his friends exchanged subdued glances. Mitsuru appeared to be struggling in her search to say something of value, but soon gave up and kept her eyes downcast.

"We got lucky with that last shadow," Akihiko finally said impatiently. "In a way I guess I should thank you - I wouldn't have been able to handle that Magi without Castor's help."

"Don't mention it," Shinjiro murmured, his back still turned.

"But with the three of us here at the same time, we're dead in the water."

That alone seemed to wake Mitsuru out of her stupor and she nodded her head in agreement.

"Without an anchor to connect to, we need to be ready to exert control over our illusions when they strike." She directed her statement to Shinjiro. "That means being able to recognize our own projections -whether they stem from dreams, memory, or what have you-"

"It's me." Shinjiro succinctly announced.

He looked over his shoulder at the frozen figures of Akihiko and Mitsuru.

"Looks like he finally decided to show."

* * *

Mitsuru and Akihiko slowly came to stand beside to Shinjiro, unable to look away. The blur of the rising heat had distorted the image, but it was becoming sharper by the moment - a horse was galloping toward them at an enormous speed.

"How does the dream end, Shinji?"

"Depends."

"Depends _on what_?"

"How I react to him. You look nervous, Aki."

"You think this is a game? That thing's coming to tear you apart-"

Shinjiro looked down at the ground in response. He cocked his head as he grasped Mitsuru's arm and tugged her back a few inches. She looked down vacantly and saw her footprint shyly overlapping the finely drawn line Shinjiro had made in the sand.

"Are you even _listening _to me?"

They could see the foam gathering around the horse's mouth as it hurtled closer.

"I can make things bad and I can make them worse," Shinjiro said evenly.

Mitsuru felt her heart plunge as the rabid beast emitted a high scream. Akihiko made to retrieve his nearby bladed fists but became still with fright when Shinjiro shook his head, eyes narrowed into slits.

"But in the end, no matter what I do, the dream doesn't end cleanly."


	10. Chapter 10

_Your heart is an empty palace._

She was like water over a rock in a riverbed. He quietly relished in the tranquility her voice brought him. To say she comforted him wouldn't be entirely accurate, even dull and without inflection, there was an edge to her murmurs that kept him wary. He liked her though - her drone-like kindness was a welcome change from Loki's taunting and constant mischief and there was something about her honesty that he preferred over any of his other personas.

Minato allowed his eyes to close, his hands cold against the stones that lined Moonlight Bridge.

They still trusted him; after all he had led them through darker tunnels than this up until now. However, his teammates were starting to apply pressure to Minato while managing to skirt around the touchy topic of a plan. It had been three days, and he had yet to make mention of a rescue mission to his teammates. They had been patient; knowing that the formulation of a cogent strategy was no easy feat, but the signs of stress were beginning to manifest.

Minato dodged their tactful questions and chastising at school and avoided being present at the dorm as much as possible. Junpei managed to corner him in the men's bathroom at school and opened his inquisition with the words 'seriously freaking out'. Minato's heart sank when he told his friend what he had been telling himself - they would go soon and to be ready for anything. It did not satisfy Junpei, but it was all Minato could say with complete confidence.

A familiar hollowness swelled in his chest - Minato was no longer alone.

"Taking a midnight stroll?"

Minato kept his neck stretched to the waxing moon.

"Can't sleep," he murmured.

The sound of water lapping against stone insulated the pause between them.

"You're worried about your friends, aren't you?"

He looked down at Pharos' blue eyes, his lips parted.

"You sure are full of questions tonight."

Pharos examined Minato with a smile. A moment later, he stood on the tips of his toes with his hands on the stone wall of the bridge as he joined Minato in admiring the moon. The sea below them was red, touched by the strange effects of the Dark Hour. Soon the moon would regain its normal shape and the world around them would restart, and Minato would have another day filled with uncertainty while his senpai-

"You don't need to be afraid," Pharos decided after a moment's pause.

Minato shook his head.

"Not afraid. Just unsure."

Pharos earned a perplexed look when he giggled at Minato's comment. The strangely clad child stopped his smiling upon realizing the morose teenager's earnest confusion. He gave Minato's uniform a firm tug, and beckoned the older boy to lean down. Minato felt his heart quicken, but complied and bowed until his eyes were level with Pharos.

Pharos pushed against Minato's cheeks, and Minato was instantly struck by the enormous chill in his tiny hands.

The dark child pulled him closer.

_Your heart_. . .

"Is an empty palace," Pharos' stoic voice stayed true.

Minato felt the lines on his face fall in surprise.

"But if you wish it, it will pass."

Pharos gently poked Minato on the nose.

Minato swallowed the knot in his throat as Pharos dropped his hands from his face. Refusing to yield to further distraction, Minato looked into the eyes of the child and took a deep breath.

"I need to find them."

Pharos paused to consider this before he nodded wistfully.

"I will go with you, if you like."

He smiled at Minato's expression.

"After all, I am always with you."

Pharos vanished and Parvati whispered her mantra again.

* * *

Their first monumental agreement was that, of the three of them, Shinji's reaction time was the poorest. Mitsuru attributed this to his choice of weapon, while Akihiko preferred to blame it on Shinjiro's mental capacity. Akihiko distinctly recalled one of their first outings, not long after Shinjiro joined S.E.E.S., where a weak shadow had stalked the trio into an alley and attacked from behind.

By weak, he meant _weak - _the damn thing was so petty it didn't even leave a mark when it came down on Mitsuru's leg. Needless to say, by the time it struck Mitsuru and Akihiko had pivoted around and taken it out in one combined attack. As the shadow dissipated into a fine smoke, Shinjiro's axe came thundering down on the patch of empty pavement.

Thus, Shinjiro's reflexes (and aim) became the running joke.

They were beyond humor now. As the horse neared, the extent of the beast's gruesome exterior enveloped Akihiko. Its coat had been seared off, leaving scorch marks and open flesh exposed. There was bone protruding through the horse's legs and a section of its lip was missing. Had the horse's appearance been less grotesque, he would have been moved to pity. Feeling nauseous, Akihiko refocused on Shinjiro, who was slowly removing his coat. He felt reminded of the times Shinjiro would brawl with the rough and tough boys at the orphanage. No rush, no problem - he'd simply get ready and let them come to him of their own accord so when they got in the way of his fists it wasn't his fault.

In seconds, the galloping phantom had closed the final distance between them.

Akihiko prepared himself for the fatal strike - and the beast lurched to a stop.

He watched puzzled as the horse flared its nostrils before bringing its full girth onto its hind legs and screaming.

Akihiko let out a wheeze.

"What's going on? Why isn't it moving?"

Shinjiro squinted as he ran his tongue over his lips.

"If I set up a barrier he hesitates, but only long enough to get angry," he discarded his coat to the sand, eyes on Castor.

"Barrier . . . ?"

In the corner of his eye, Akihiko saw Mitsuru look to the ground.

A fine line separated them from grisly death.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Like I said," Shinjiro muttered, turning around and ambling away. "Just long enough to get mean."

The horse began to buck and kick wildly, mere centimeters from Shinjiro's ad-hoc barrier. Akihiko looked to Mitsuru in anticipation of a stern word of guidance or reproach. A harsh veil of sand passed between them, but when it passed he found her hands slack at her sides, her foil untouched. Her breathing had steadied and the tight panic on her face had fallen away. She was watching Castor.

Shinjiro briskly cut between them, his axe firmly in hand. With memories of orphanage fights fresh in his mind, Akihiko took a decisive step back - preparing to wind up and roll in when this nightmare reached a zenith.

Shinjiro swung his axe to the sky with one sure foot over the line; a death blow on the precipice of delivery -

"_Stop_!"

- his axe was ripped from his hands, and Shinjiro was abruptly pulled back into the safety zone. The hostile youngster whipped around snarling, ready to serve Akihiko a punch to the face. He stopped before his fist connected with a glaring ice queen.

Castor screamed.

Mitsuru met Shinjiro's wide eyes as she heaved from the effort of her interference.

"What the hell are you doing?" Akihiko spluttered, rushing to Shinjiro's side. "He's the only one who can end this!"

"You're right," Mitsuru drew in a quiet gasp. "But this is not the way."

Castor's hooves sent a plume of sand at them as he pushed against the line.

"You don't know anything about me," Shinjiro softly reminded her, his eyes dark.

Mitsuru swallowed and looked over to Castor.

"_He _knows," Mitsuru said defiantly. She returned her stalwart gaze to Shinjiro, her red hair streamlined against her face. "That is your _persona_, Shinjiro. If you run, he will follow."

"Did it fucking look like I was running two seconds ago?" Shinjiro remonstrated angrily, pushing in closer to Mitsuru.

"Yes," Mitsuru snapped, pushing her shoulders back to meet his challenging posture.

Castor reared again, his two front hooves landing well over the line.

"Tearing him apart without understanding and without recourse is no different than fleeing. Stop being a coward, Shinjiro. Face him without hiding behind a weapon."

Shinjiro growled.

Akihiko winced.

"If this is the only way you've ever acknowledged him, why would he ever stop?" Mitsuru's weakened pants softened over the boisterous sounds growing inches closer.

Shinjiro looked back to Castor, his confrontational pose lost. A moment passed as all eyes returned to Castor, who had retreated well behind the line but was becoming increasingly more agitated as his master continued to ignore him. Akihiko swallowed.

"We're right behind you."

"Shut up," Shinjiro muttered mildly. Without another word, he stepped away from the emperor and empress and made for the personification of his nightmares. Even as he retreated, his companions kept close to him: Akihiko gathered his bladed fists onto his fingers while Mitsuru wearily drew the foil from her hip. Shinjiro crossed into Castor's territory with ease, ignoring his fallen axe as he did so.

Castor's tossing and excited turns in the sand halted when Shinjiro entered the arena. The object of the horse's attention caught him unaware, and for a moment the ghastly animal only flicked an ear and snorted. It wasn't long before the horse assessed him with a furious gallop. In seconds, Castor was bearing on down Shinjiro, the horse's forelegs kicking as he brought them down on the young man's head-

"Shinji!"

Shinjiro jumped away as the horse came crashing down. Castor emitted a furious screech-

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

He reached out and placed his hands firmly on Castor's jaw, pulling the horse's eyes close to his.

"That's enough."

The stallion chortled nervously, the proximity to Shinjiro ebbing his rage. Shinjiro sighed, bowing his head close to empty coal-eyes of his tortured companion. The sensation of Castor's soft mane opened the floodgates of his memory. Dimming evenings of spring spent stealing apples from the kitchen and running gleefully to spoil an elderly neighbor with his treasures; summer nights spent under the stars as the majestic stallion grazed next to him and Aki; fall mornings spent running the length of the wooden fence, the friendly stallion jostling close beside him on the other side; winter afternoons spent with Miki, sewing a blanket so his friend would not feel the chill of winter, and one winter night spent watching a fire burn-

Shinjiro wrenched his eyes close, but the angry tears escaped through.

"I'm sorry," it was only a whisper, but Castor must have heard it for the horse emitted a tranquil snort. Unbeknownst to Shinjiro, but within full sight of Akihiko and Mitsuru, a strange occurrence was unfolding before them.

Patches of dried blood and exposed bone were healing over. Red faded to black - new ligaments began to twist and spiral over dead bone, and coarse flesh was rejuvenated. Layer by layer, Castor's black coat and flowing mane returned with a waxing shine.

Shinjiro raised his arms to touch the horse's soft ears - and heard a soft cracking noise when he grazed them. Eyes wide, Shinjiro watched as the tip of the Castor's ear fell and landed in the sand - no longer flesh but a piece of ebony glass. A catalyst had been initiated. He stepped back in horror and watched the horse as it quietly began to break apart. With little of himself remaining, Castor silently knelt and with a weak grunt came to a lie. Upon contact with the soft grains of sand, the last of his body cracked and gently fell to the earth in shards.

Mitsuru and Akihiko remained behind the line.

Shinjiro knelt to the sand and retrieved a small piece of Castor. Its warmth stilled his thoughts, and he pushed down a strange emotion before it could overtake him.

Swallowing, Akihiko moved to join Shinjiro when he stumbled back. A small hole had appeared at their feet, and in moments it formed a swirling whirlpool of sand. Just as he began to slip in, a hand shot out and pulled him back. He meant to send her a look of gratitude - or annoyance, whichever emoted first, before he realized it wouldn't be received. In seconds, they were pulled into the vacuum and one nightmare blurred into another.

* * *

The Kirijo family stylist was at a loss.

Never before had Kirijo-san been so displeased with her as he was tonight. She could tell because she had been standing before him for over thirty seconds and he had not uttered a sentence other than-

"That attire is not suitable."

_"That"_of course referred to the six-digit gown that Mitsuru-sama was at this moment wearing for the gala celebrating the Kirijo Company's nano-technology - some rubbish about a debut in Taiwan, she couldn't be bothered to remember. What was important now was handling this situation with care, particularly since she had only modest experience with her superior when he was this unhappy. She had learned that when the surly entrepreneur was pleased, he did little more than wave his hand and mutter a quick 'yes'.

The sound of pen furiously scratching against paper filled the room as she waited for him to address her further. He instead balled the paper into a crumple and tossed it into the bin beside him.

When he was displeased, which seemed to be a more frequent occurrence ever since Mitsuru-sama had reached the suitable age for courting, he tapped his fingers to his desk and shook his head. Very little of their exchanges lasted more than five minutes, and none of them involved direct eye-contact from Kirijo-san.

Considering this and other circumstances, she'd be damned if she was going to back down easily. Hell, after three months of conversing with flighty French designers at three in the morning and making last minute alterations when the dress arrived clearly not in the shape she had stipulated, she deserved an explanation for why her toil was being put to the chopping block.

It was clear he was not going to speak any further, so she began her defense.

"Kirijo-san requested a dress tailored especially for this event. As per your instructions, I commissioned the order from Paris three months prior to tonight's event. I submitted the designs for your approval on three separate occasions so I do admit your explicit dissatisfaction has caught me unaware. Might I ask what Kirijo-san finds so unpalatable about the gown?"

"The color is unacceptable," he said simply as he dipped his pen into a small container of ink, a fresh sheet of paper before him.

She fixed him with a dull gaze, her rebuttal ready.

"The designer chose the coloring specifically for Mitsuru-sama's complexion, Kirijo-san. I should add that white is a most desirable color for an eligible heiress and with many of Mitsuru-sama's admirers and potential suitors being in attendance tonight, it was the prudent choice."

The soft scratching of his pen on paper ceased, and he raised his gaze to her.

"I did not request a gown tailored for a sacrificial maiden."

If the simple act of eye contact meant anything, it was that her chief was beyond displeased. As his hawk-eye bore into her, she became grateful that a patch covered his injured eye, for even the idea of a full glare became too much for her. At this point, she concluded that she had defended her work valiantly, and that victory - impossible at the onset, had eluded her even further.

She sighed. At least Kirijo-san was wearing the three piece suit she had selected.

"The designer will be livid."

It may have been her imagination, but the sound of pen against paper seemed to resume with a distinct giddiness.

"That is not my concern."

"Surely you understand that finding a suitable evening gown for the esteemed daughter of the Kirijo Company in such a short amount of time is an exceptionally taxing request, even for one such as myself."

"Your expertise will not be required further. Mitsuru will make the decision."

His comment made for an instantaneously slack-jawed stylist. He returned to his work, unperturbed.

* * *

Mitsuru lingered outside the door. If he listened closely, he could hear the rustle of her dress when she moved. She was hesitating entering his study, as if to concentrate on structuring a strategy on how to properly speak and behave once in his presence (a behavior indicative of a fine CEO, but not for a teenager and certainly not a daughter). Takeharu let out a soft sigh he had been holding as he looked down at the scribbling on his ledger. A moment of meditation moved him to his phone and he rang for the assistant to send her in.

A moment later, Mitsuru entered - still clad in that abominable evening gown.

"Thank you for seeing me."

Takeharu removed his hands from his desk and reclined slightly in his chair.

"It has come to my attention that you've new recruits."

Mitsuru nodded, a pleased smile gracing her lips.

"Yes. They are both excellent additions."

"I see."

Takeharu glanced down at the documents on the corner of his desk. He took her succinctness for approval. If there were issues, he felt confident she could handle them. Any doubts on behalf of Takeharu had been quelled - his investigators had done well on their end. On to more pressing matters . . .

"Was there anything else, Mitsuru?"

"No, sir."

Takeharu tapped his fingers lightly to his desk, his good eye narrowed.

"I also understand you've had a motorcycle in your possession for quite some time."

He looked up in time to see her pale. God, how he loathed that color on her.

"Sir," she took a deep breath. "Please understand, I only omitted the details from you because-"

"Mitsuru," the softness in his voice halted her. "I do hope that my assistant is not referring to the death trap sitting in the east garage."

Mitsuru knitted her eyebrows ever so slightly in what Takeharu thought must be indignance. He continued, not happy at all about having this conversation.

"If that were the case, I would ask that you return it to the scrap heap from which it came and have the mechanic fit you a machine suitable for all occasions."

She raised an eyebrow.

Takeharu, feeling and subsequently looking disgruntled, ripped a page from his ledger and slipped it into an envelope. He grudgingly silenced the part of him that wished to see it incinerated along with the archaic piece of machinery in his garage.

"I will send this order to the garage in the morning," he stood from his seat and walked the length around his desk to appraise her. Mitsuru must have mirrored the feeling showing in his eyes as she offered him a sad smile as he lightly rested his hands on her shoulders.

"I digress. I did not call you in here to question you," he took a steady breath, forcing himself to look in her eyes.

"Tonight is not about business. Enjoy yourself," he paused and then leaned forward to plant a kiss on her forehead.

Seeming somewhat taken back by his affectionate gesture, Mitsuru nodded slowly. Takeharu Kirijo did not make it habit to blatantly lie to his daughter, but in this case he felt it could only help the situation.

"Was there anything else, Mitsuru?"

She was looking at him, the hesitation in her decorum was so strong it filled the space between them. Takeharu had to force himself to stop; to refrain from telling her to jump on that pile of rubbish on wheels and get the hell out of this place before she lost all hope for shaping her own destiny, before the weight of the Kirijo legacy claimed her too.

"This dress. . ." She finally said, seeming unsure of how to approach the situation.

Takeharu scowled.

"The stylist will assist you, but you will be responsible for the final decision."

Mitsuru smiled then, a small amount joy lighting her features.

"Thank-you, father."

One last time: "Was there anything else, Mitsuru?"

Her features relaxed, and she shook her head gently.

"No, sir."

Takeharu felt the hope in his heart flicker and die. Mitsuru's hand was gone from his now, her path had diverged but his fate could easily become hers if she did not learn from someone, anyone, to take charge of her destiny and break the mold of mock-leadership. She could be president of anything she wanted, but it was meaningless unless she applied it to her heart. Takeharu put his hand to her cheek and met her eyes gravely.

"Be well, Mitsuru."

She bowed with all the grace that her mother could not teach her, and left the room silently.

Takeharu turned to the window and watched a rainstorm approach. He stayed at his post for an uncertain amount of time and watched as an attendant escorted Mitsuru with an umbrella. He caught a glimpse of her as she slipped into the car, and would have smiled at the midnight blue silk wrapped around her if he felt the situation warranted it. Takeharu observed the limousine as it carefully departed the driveway and long after the tail lights faded and rain enveloped his world, he remained.

* * *

His stomach itched.

"This champagne tastes like ass," the statement did not stop Shinjiro from taking another sip from his flute.

Akihiko frowned.

"Where's mine?" he queried with a scowl.

Shinjiro smacked his lips smugly.

"You've got too much of a baby face to get the sauce."

He brooded as a circle of dancers whirled by their table. Sounds of strings and cool laughter emanated from the sweeping dance floor laid out before them. They sat under a sparkling canopy of chandeliers, and at the end of the dance floor a wall of glass windows were neatly stacked on top of each other, providing a breathtaking view of a rocky ocean coast. There must have been well over three hundred guests in attendance, all of them dressed in neat blocks of black or white.

Akihiko's languid gaze shifted from the dancers to the windows. The itching on his stomach was becoming a distraction.

A waiter swept by and seamlessly replaced Shinjiro's empty glass with a full flute. The sour expression on Akihiko's face deepened.

"Why are you drinking that?"

"We're at a party, Einstein."

Since when did orphans go to posh parties? Shinjiro wasn't wearing a tuxedo; he was not supposed to be there. The orchestra began a slow and purposeful waltz, drawing Akihiko's attention back to the dance floor to follow the lines of elegant dancers as they floated through his vision. A glimpse of blue silk interrupted the neat and orderly blocks of white and black, but it was soon lost from sight. Akihiko was content to forget it and dreamily gazed at the display of wide windows. His stomach itched, _really bad_.

"Why?" he remembered to ask at great length.

Well past aggravated, Shinjiro parted his lips to spit out a scathing remark only to be interrupted by Akihiko, who had suddenly yanked the hem of his shirt up to scratch his furiously inflamed torso. While couples mingled and laughed in the background, Shinjiro and Akihiko looked dumbly upon the thick line of dried blood cut diagonally across Akihiko's chest and stomach.

"When did. . ."

Shinjiro's glass plummeted to the floor. The sound of it shattering drew the instant attention of all in attendance. Akihiko dropped his shirt, his cheeks flushed. The distinguished collection of people did not forget easily, though. Their accusatory glances began to take a sinister appearance-

"Waiter," Shinjiro snapped his fingers. "Going to need a fresh one over here."

Akihiko blinked, and the collective of patricians carried on about their hob-knobbing as though nothing had interrupted them.

"Ever been to a fancy party?" Shinjiro's breath reeked of champagne. Akihiko glared at his friend who was discreetly leaning over the table.

"What kind of stupid question is that?" Akihiko hissed, trying to look unobtrusive as his eyes searched for something recognizable in their surroundings. "Of course I haven't."

"Just looking for the benefit of the doubt - This is obviously a Kirijo shindig."

"Shit," Akihiko stood up slowly. That had been her, right? In the blue silk? Akihiko glared at the decadently decorated hall, waiting anxiously for Polydeuces to chime in with a helpful time.

"Pull the lead out, Aki," Shinjiro said with a pleasant smile as he accepted a fresh glass of champagne from the waiter.

"We don't exactly blend in."

* * *

The dancers stopped and Chopin began to lightly waft into her mind and she found that the aristocratic laughter that insulated her muddied the beautiful melody. Mitsuru glimpsed at the chattering woman across from her and smiled politely, realizing that she had drifted off during the woman's monologue.

"Kirijo-san,"

Mitsuru turned around deliberately.

"If I may be so bold to say, you look exquisite."

She extended a courteous hand to the charming business prince, and he took it gently.

"Kanada-san, how gracious of the Inoue Company to attend."

Kanada gave a sparkling chuckle, his eyes twinkling intently on Mitsuru.

"I certainly could not afford to miss the unveiling of the Kirijo group's new nano-chip, particularly when Inoue has been in a neck-to-neck race to get to the Taiwanese market first."

There was a trace of bitterness in his easy banter. Mitsuru retained the smile on her lips as a distinct unease settled in.

"Inoue's efforts were commendable. You should be proud of the company's performance, particularly last quarter."

Chopin was no longer trickling into her ears. Instead the orchestra had shifted gears dramatically and was pounding out a brooding Rachmaninov selection. She turned her head and concentrated with dulled anxiety at the furious dancers unfurling before her.

"I do love that color."

Mitsuru turned back just as Kanada took a sip from his glass, his eyes lazily following her movements.

She creased her brow.

"I beg your pardon?"

Kanada took a step forward.

"I've been speaking with your father, Mitsuru,"

She blanched at the informal use of her name. A pair of lovers swung through her line of sight.

"He has made mention of a merger between Inoue and Kirijo, much to the benefit of the former." His voice was well below the appropriate conversational volume. Kanada took a greedy gulp from his glass.

She took a step back, her attention again divided by the growing number of people swarming to the sounds of string and key. More and more couples were weaving furiously closer, even though Mitsuru could have sworn she was well away from the dance floor when Kanada approached her. The sickly sweet perfume of champagne sent her mind spinning -

In her distraction, she had allowed Kanada another step closer.

* * *

A pair of dancers elbowed him in the gut, and Akihiko swore under his breath as he pushed through them. That was number three. Akihiko was starting to think these affluent jerks were purposefully driving into him. Not too much of a fuss, he reminded himself. Another duo was swiftly closing in on him, their faces united in one glower. He jumped back and knocked a chair into a table, causing the dinnerware to rattle. Akihiko gaped at the couple as they glared daggers at him, all while carrying on in their rushed tempo.

"The benefits of such an alliance are numerous, I'm sure you've realized."

Akihiko frowned.

"And as leaders, our shared talents would thrust our organizations to the forefront of the market in China."

Someone was talking - clearly.

"Think of your father. . ."

Wait . . . had he heard anyone else talking here? Other than distant laughter and incomprehensible blabber, had he actually heard coherent dialogue? No - even when he was pushing through people and within intimate proximity to others, Akihiko had only heard distant clips of speech, no substantial conversing.

"No longer would he be haunted by ghosts of the past."

Something was masquerading as reality.

He turned around, tracing the sneering tone to its origins.

* * *

Shinjiro tapped his fingers to the silk tablecloth as he watched the affluent dancers lose their faces and gain rapiers between in one mutual hand. Their tempo was increasing rapidly, Akihiko had been swallowed by the crowd little over a minute ago.

He stood up and punched the waiter in the face.

The poor sap folded back at a ninety-degree angle and sprang back - now a full fledged Natural Dancer.

Shinjiro whistled as a fireball soared by him and split a table in half.

Bad news for Mitsuru.

* * *

She closed her eyes as a desire for complacency nagged at her.

"You could take it all away from him, let him heal."

Mitsuru opened her eyes.

"I-"

Something grabbed her arm.

Mitsuru looked down and then up at a pair of gray eyes.

"Sanada-san? What on earth are you doing here?"

Kanada crushed the delicate glass in his hands. He did not bleed.

"And just what do you think you're doing? Remove your hands from her at once."

"Mitsuru, listen to me," Akihiko grasped her other arm and firmly pointed her toward him. "It sounds good, right? Like he knows what you need, what's right for you-"

"I _do_ know what's right for her."

Akihiko's hands tightened slightly around Mitsuru. He took a deliberate breath, fighting the urge to release Mitsuru from his grasp and blast her male companion into last week.

"No, he _doesn't._ _I _don't know, no one knows but you."

She froze-

* * *

Shinjiro launched himself onto a table, armed with a cherry wood seat.

A sea mixed of Soul Dancers and Natural Dancers bobbed around him, each of them emitting haggard squeals in excitement of attacking him. He swung the chair down over the first shadow he saw. His attack finished, Shinjiro smoothly swept his weapon to the left and then sharply to the right and wiped out a cluster of couples.

Shinjiro looked over - and did a double take.

A foil appeared on the table next to him.

Aki was making progress.

* * *

"I. . ."

Akihiko growled and pulled her closer.

"It's not real, Mitsuru. Don't pay attention to how it sounds, pay attention to how you feel."

"Who is this ruffian? Security!"

Mitsuru shook her head mournfully, her eyes glassy on Akihiko.

* * *

Having dropped his weapon, Shinjiro leaped onto the neighboring table and rolled off with Mitsuru's foil in one hand and a silver tray in the other.

Time to run the ball, he thought grimly as he sprinted toward a fresh horde of shadows. He charged into the group of enemies, decapitating dancers with his deadly serving tray as he went.

* * *

The music was gone, and so too was the grand hall around them. The only thing that remained were the dancers, now completely transformed into shadows. As they pivoted and twirled, they slashed and stabbed at Akihiko. He grunted, but stood his ground before Mitsuru.

"Together we can rid the world of shadows, Mitsuru," Kanada was becoming insistent, his voice reverberating all around them. "The shield of our union will protect him."

"_Shut up_," Akihiko said through gritted teeth, his eyes aflame on Mitsuru.

"You're the strongest of all of us. Whatever's troubling you, I know you can beat it."

Mitsuru looked at him, and suddenly the glasslike sheen over her eyes was gone.

An anonymous dancer dealt a deep cut to Akihiko's back and he sucked in a harsh gasp. All that mattered was the look in Mitsuru's eyes, one that he recognized all too well. She had finally found her resolve.

"I can't."

Akihiko's hands trembled and then constricted.

An Agidyne collided into the ground and scorched the hem of Mitsuru's dress.

* * *

Shinjiro gave the shadow a solid head butt and severed its hands. Akihiko and Mitsuru were in sight now. Shinjiro flipped his tray over with a grunt and used the flat of it as a makeshift battering ram. He completed the final stretch with a large bound onto a table.

"On your right," Shinjiro called out, tossing the foil pommel first to Akihiko.

The boxer glanced over and caught it mid-flight.

* * *

"I can't," Mitsuru repeated numbly, unseeing of the weapon in Akihiko's possession.

Akihiko inhaled slowly.

"Okay," his hand found hers.

"I know how strong you are, and one day you will too."

Mitsuru felt the familiar bend of her foil slip into her palm. Akihiko's calloused fingers gently squeezed and closed her fingers around the pommel.

"Until then -"

She looked down at the weapon in her hand and stared as Akihiko placed his hand over her fingers. Together, they shared the pommel.

"I'll be right here."

* * *

Shinjiro watched as Akihiko and Mitsuru joined hands over the latter's foil. Together, they looked strikingly similar to the shadow dancers swarming around them. Akihiko dropped his hand to Mitsuru's hip and with a solid thrust he drove them into a deep lunge. Akihiko might have been donating brute force, but Mitsuru's skilled fingers had memory. With a slight push of her fingers, she aimed the foil to kill.

Shinjiro made a quick dismount from his table before flipping it over and taking cover.

* * *

A gale of ice exploded from the tip of Mitsuru's foil as she and Akihiko sent the blade through Kanada's chest. The man cracked and shattered - and a pained howl escaped from Akihiko's lips as a block of ice enveloped the hand he held over Mitsuru's.

The storm did not die with Kanada. A sheet of ice covered the floor and continued to expand on what became an endless black horizon. It covered the walls and touched the ceiling. He shut his eyes from excruciating pain tearing at his brain. Soon, Akihiko felt the greedy element encase his veins and arteries as it raced through his body. It circled his organs and bones before it reached his chest. He tried to scream, but found he could not as the chill built and built a case around his heart-

He was dead.

Something across from him moved.

He heard a pop, and behind his eyelids he saw a streak of orange.

Akihiko collapsed, Mitsuru's screams echoing beside him.

* * *

Cocytus would have treated him well.

His dreams consisted of flying and he had little romance for things remembered or souvenirs. He carried the people he met and things he did away from his heart and mind. What terrible things could the shadows in this block conjure from a blank slate? There were girls, Minato supposed, that could be used to lure him into a trap. He could admit that much after Shirakawa hoist - Minato rubbed his cheek with a sore memory.

Maybe the vague memories of his family could be used to bait him into a tight squeeze? No, still not much to work with - this block would have been a cinch. Though, it might be in his best interest, and the interest of his friends, to refrain from any further underestimation of the Velvet Room attendant. She was creative to boot and about as determined as a bull in the ring. By now, Minato knew that she was capable of finding something to latch on to in the simplest of minds. Knowing this, Minato supposed that if he had fulfilled the original terms of their agreement, Elizabeth would have made it worth his while.

"I see a wall."

Minato looked over his shoulder and glanced at the wall where Pharos was pointing.

Nothing got past this kid.

"Though, I don't think it will last much longer," Pharos continued.

"Why not?"

"It's unstable - not meant to last," his child companion pondered dreamily. "But don't worry . . . they seem all right."

Minato puffed.

"Don't suppose you could get me in there?"

Pharos looked at him with a vacant smile.

"You are very clever. Farewell, for now."

The soft-spoken boy tilted his head as he disappeared, his eerie smile lingering as he went. Minato was soon alone in the cursed enclave of Tartarus. After a moment of standing in the roaring silence, Minato clicked his tongue and wandered to the wall where Pharos had been standing and gently pushed against it with his forehead.

Upon contact with the wall, he was surprised to find it quite warm. He looked around, paying close attention to the cracks and edges in the stone. Just as he remembered, the imperfections were there, a blue glow pulsing distantly behind them. Pharos saw a wall behind this one, one which was starting to disintegrate as time went on. He dropped his head again to the wall, hoping the small effort would blow apart it apart in some dramatic fashion. He supposed he could just send one of his meatier personas rampaging through- Thor ought to do the trick. Elizabeth would get a kick out of that before she sent the whole of Cocytus crumbling down on the lot of them.

Minato scratched his head.

Coming here only helped so much. He could have Pharos point his friends out to him all night, but until he found a way to reach them there wasn't a lot he could accomplish. Exasperated, he sighed and slipped his hands back into his pockets-

Minato dropped his shoulders.

-and brushed against the worn edges of a card.

With a curious frown, he removed it and examined it carefully. God, how long had he been hanging on to this dinosaur? Though unsure of exactly how long it had been since he'd come into possession of this persona, Minato distinctly remembered the intent he had had when he acquired it from that damn compendium. It was when he'd come across a large sum of money and wanted to try his first real strategy with a durable persona. Needless to say, distractions arose when the pages of the compendium lured him in with other, stronger personas (Not to mention other distractions – high cut armor and bikinis). Minato flipped the card over to reveal a splotch of spilled Mad Bull - he pressed a finger to it and licked.

Oh yeah - he'd definitely had this card for a while.

He paused for a moment before he gave the wall a glare.

It was a silly, stupid plan. . .

Minato planted a half-hearted kick against the blasted barrier.

". . . Do you think it'll work?"

_Your heart is an empty palace._

God, I hope you're right.

* * *

_Heeeey buddy._

Akihiko felt a growl roll in his throat - Polydeuces' sheepish tone was not exactly the most pleasant thing to regain consciousness to, particularly since the stronger the shadow's effect, the more potent the headache afterward.

Where the _hell _have you been?

_I wonder what you sound like when you're relieved. I bet it's nice. I think I've only ever heard one emotion from you: pissed off._

Shut up! Do you have any idea what I've had to deal with? Between nearly getting trampled by a damn demon horse and getting literally sucked into a dinner party only to be ambushed by a host of bloodthirsty dancers, I've got every right to pissed off.

_You're just being dramatic._

Did I mention there was ice involved - _a lot _of ice?

_Yeesh, glad you didn't call me up._

I can't believe how useless you are!

. . . _Sure wish you'd think things through sometimes._

You wanna rephrase that for me, pal?

_The shadows here have a pretty firm grasp on that squishy brain of yours. They picked around and found Miki and your soft spot for ice. Is it really that surprising that they can partition off the part of your subconscious that controls me? So maybe they can't sequester the physical act of summoning me - so what? After I show up, I'm redundant._

What happened to two sides of the same coin? Don't give me that redundant shit.

_Think back to Shirakawa Boulevard. I know it's difficult, as I'm sure you haven't revisited the memory of your gal pal in that itty-bitty towel._

You son of a-

_Do you remember having any control over your own thoughts? While in that hotel room, did you recall being able to even summon a persona? Of course you didn't. You were focused on other, more important things. Trust me, I've tried getting at you while you've been under the shadow's control before. It's pointless and kind of embarrassing when I realize I'm talking to myself._

Akihiko clenched his eyes shut and sat up. A quick check around him indicated Mitsuru and Shinjiro were safe and relatively unharmed. Further examination of their surroundings showed that they were back within the confines of glowing blue walls and black stone floor. He fell back with a groan, feeling somewhat better knowing they had somehow won a small break between brain pickings.

_My advice, if I were in the advice-giving business, would be to forget about me for a while and ride this mess out in the company of your friends._

You're probably on to something there.

_If it's any comfort, I was rooting for you._

In the desert?

_No, stupid - at Shirakawa._

* * *

If she hadn't already, Fuuka would definitely bust him when he got home. The very thought made Minato sulk.

Poor kid.

It was rather unfair that she and Lucia had spent the last three nights in harmonious agony. From the safety of the dorm, they picked over every floor in Tartarus in a vain attempt to pinpoint the whereabouts of their esteemed upperclassmen. He distantly wondered if the aid of a child in prisoner garb who could see through walls was considered an unfair advantage. No matter, once he presented his plan to the group he would be able to pass through any serious questions with ease. At least he hoped as much - telling the others about his recent help might convince them of his insanity rather than his tactical prowess. Minato reached into the pocket of his uniform and shuffled through his deck until he found Loki's card.

_Don't bench me, Ace. I've been kicking ass. . . So maybe I got you into a few scuffles - It's made you stronger, right?_

He had to smile at that one. While doubts of his upcoming plan lingered, his fingers danced over his collection of cards. He had another day to put madness to action - even if that was a setback for his senpai, time was suddenly on his side.

Don't make this personal. You should be happy I've decided to take your advice and go in a direction I can control.

_You do just fine by me._

And I'm not the only one, am I?

The cunning god had no quip, and Minato quashed a small trill of triumph before he could smile.

I'm counting on you, Loki.

_You disappoint me._

Minato did not respond. Before him, Tartarus began its nightly collapse and as it shuddered back into its original state, he removed Loki's card from his pocket and watched it ascend above his head. With one simple thought and the blink of his eyes, he dismissed the persona.

After one last glance, Minato turned away from Gekkoukan High in search of a very big axe.


	11. Chapter 11

As a general rule, he was wary of anyone he couldn't picture as a child.

Shinjiro resisted the urge to stand up straight and shifted his weight casually to his right foot.

He looked to the scarlet-haired judge seated before him. Four floors up in an unassuming student dormitory and in a strange room filled with video monitoring equipment and uncomfortable Victorian furniture, Shinjiro noticed there were quite a few barriers between him and an untouchable heiress.

He was instantly aware of the shameless placement of a long polished coffee table with Kirijo perched regally on one end and himself on the other. While it was less conspicuous, her patiently folded hands on a book and glasses resting on her lap was an additional gesture Shinjiro hardly considered welcoming body language.

Okay, he got it. A smart girl like this was keen on showcasing her distrust.

As her sharp crimson eyes returned his expectant gaze, Shinjiro felt pinched for an introduction at this improvised inquisition, even though anyone in Port Island who didn't know her name would have been under a rock for the last ten years.

"I'm-"

"Aragaki Shinjiro, I know. What business do you have here? This is a private dormitory and visitors are strictly prohibited."

Two minutes into his so-called one-on-one with Kirijo Mitsuru, and Shinjiro realized the folly of attempting to imagine an autocrat as a kid. So what if he could have made this meeting a little less awkward? Maybe his dramatic entrance into the dormitory was a bit out of character, but it wasn't entirely his fault. If anything, Akihiko's rash ambition was to blame here, but since Aki wasn't about to be convinced to leave S.E.E.S., Shinjiro had no choice but to join. Regardless, with this type of woman survival meant being frank and succinct.

"Aki's got a good heart. He can keep cool in the ring, but the adrenaline can get to him when he starts throwing punches on the streets."

Kirijo cocked her head slightly and Shinjiro felt a twinge of panic when he considered the possibility that she might have found something he said intriguing. Regardless, he kept a thoroughly bored expression.

"And you feel you need to protect him?"

Shinjiro laughed heartily, amused by the assumption. She squinted at him coolly as his laughter faded to an ironic smile.

"He doesn't lose his head when I'm around," he licked his lips, and became serious again.

Kirijo artfully deposited the book on her lap on the table beside her. Shinjiro's eyelashes flickered as he lazily followed her movement, finding further amusement in this game of deciphering intentions buried in idiosyncrasies.

"While I appreciate the feedback regarding Sanada-san's aptitude in battle, that decision has already been made."

She added her reading glasses to the table. The smaller barriers had been lifted, and now only that absurdly long coffee table separated them. It was becoming clear that Kirijo did not find him threatening. A less secure individual would have seen this and assumed the cues of an imminent dismissal. Shinjiro was seeing a prompt to divulge further information.

"If there's a need for him, there's a need for me."

She gave a soft, almost weary smile, and Shinjiro was only slightly surprised that it made her lovely.

He raised his eyebrows.

"Have I impressed you yet?"

"No," she replied lightly. The smile stayed, albeit a bit thinner, but her tone changed as she reached for her book and glasses on the side table.

"Meet me at midnight on the Moonlight Bridge; there you will have a chance to _impress_. In the meanwhile, you would do well to avoid returning to this dormitory. Consider this meeting your first warning. Any attempt to enter the premises hereafter, and I will inform the authorities. I believe you can find the way out."

She aligned the spine of her book on her knee and resumed reading, a second glance not worth her time.

Shinjiro looked again as he turned to exit, another fleeting search for a smiling child failed.

* * *

Her return to consciousness was not a simple transition, and eventually Mitsuru found she had been watching Shinjiro's vain attempts to bandage Akihiko's right hand.

Mitsuru lowered her eyes to the ugly blisters blossoming on her arm. Whatever misery she found herself in now was vastly more pleasant than spending any extra time in the memory of the Kirijo Gala a few years ago. That night had not hellish because of Kanada, though Mitsuru sullenly applauded the shadow's ability to manifest the extreme discomfort she felt around him as well as her perpetual concerns about her father.

Across from her, Shinjiro mumbled a few colorful words under his breath.

It was not a particularly memorable evening, but it was the first time the extent of her loneliness was actualized in her everyday activities. Before, even when her father wasn't at her side, Mitsuru was moving along a purposeful line. That night, after his strange behavior, Mitsuru realized that her actions thus far had failed at bringing him peace. When he was not at her side at the Gala, it was reinforcement that whatever course she took, Mitsuru would be incapable of reaching him.

Last month, Kanada had all but publicly announced his intent to formally court Mitsuru, and the more frequent the auspicious young man's meetings with her father, the wider the abyss between father and daughter grew until eventually her father evaporated into an apparition, a name and voice she only heard only through paper. It was simple, though not easy, to exist in such a reality, but the inescapable question remained: Where had she gone wrong in easing his pain?

_That was a very noble thing you did. . ._

Mitsuru squared her shoulders, despite feeling very small.

_It was also unspeakably moronic._

"I could have killed him."

* * *

"If only we'd been so fortunate."

In all fairness, Shinjiro would have said the same thing had be been in a chipper mood. However, with Aki's ice-chapped arm, a snarling headache, and the ever present nagging withdrawals from his suppressants, the contempt on his tongue was hardly worth hushing. He glanced over at Mitsuru briefly and deduced by her wide eyes that she had not meant to say that aloud.

"You did it wrong," Akihiko interjected, examining his bandage with a droll frown.

Shinjiro smoothly unwound his work, being sure to avoid granting Akihiko the satisfaction of a vindictive glare.

God, he'd won a good respite these last few weeks. Mitsuru rarely put him on support in their early days, but there was still the occasional emergency which would prompt him to slap a bandage on an exposed bone or squirt some gel on a burn. It virtually ended with Arisato, though.

He tried not to sigh wistfully as he remembered his first night in Tartarus with the new leader of S.E.E.S. Night one with Shinjiro back on the squad, and Arisato had designated him and Aigis to spearhead the physically blistering aspects of a battle. Simply put, the junior instructed them to do what they did best: crush anything in their way. Shinjiro was happy to oblige, since there was no need to concern himself with healing or helping anyone who had the bad sense to fall over. However, when those lovely healers got punched around, Shinjiro was _unspeakably happy_ to have the distinct privilege of putting them back together.

"I'm fully capable of casting Dia," Mitsuru said evenly.

Shinjiro stuffed the end of the bandage into a fold with slight jab, his nostalgia turned sour.

"No," Akihiko sent Shinjiro a nasty look as he said it. "You said it earlier. The only way we're going to get through this is if we conserve our energy."

"Don't be unreasonable, Akihiko," Mitsuru was trying to be gentle.

"This is _fine_. God-damn, why did the most powerful one there have to be weak to ice?"

"Calm down and hold still," Shinjiro warned, his patience waning. Akihiko was obviously irritated at Mitsuru, and despite whatever personal observations he had on the reasons why, Shinjiro kept to his task.

"Who _was _that guy, anyway?" Akihiko spat suddenly as he shot a withering glare at Mitsuru.

A foreboding feeling dropped into the pit of Shinjiro's stomach as he purposefully continued his loops around Akihiko's shaking wrist.

Aki was getting hot and bothered, but it was probably nothing compared to the outrage most likely bubbling in Mitsuru's throat. Shinjiro kept quiet at his idiot friend's comment, knowing that he wouldn't be able to stay out of this little squabble unless he wanted two dead teammates. Out of the corner of his eyes, Shinjiro caught Mitsuru's profile; arms crossed and eyes serenely closed. By all appearances, she seemed to take the comment in stride.

Shinjiro knew better.

There was no way that little move would go unnoticed, especially since it was the first time Akihiko had looked at Mitsuru since they'd returned from the Kirijo Gala shitstorm.

"That is not any of your business, Akihiko," her voice was about half an octave quieter than Shinjiro's breathing: She was _pissed_. They were lucky she was conserving her energy; else they would have been swiftly executed.

Akihiko snorted.

"So I do all the dirty but I don't deserve an explanation for why?"

Shinjiro would have sold his soul for a spoon to gouge out his eyes, a pleasing image considering the excruciating nature of the situation he found himself in now.

Layering the bandage on Akihiko's wrist became a meditative exercise, as Shinjiro suddenly evoked every instance where he had crossed the line with Mitsuru. All the times he had called her a crazy bitch to her face, those times he'd provoke her by hocking a casual wad of spit in her path, the several incidents where he marginalized her excellent marks in school, and the occasional lewd comment on her fashion sense, God, at least it was fair. Interloping into her personal life and pain, now that was low blow.

He stole a careful glance up at Akihiko, whose narrowed eyes were hell bent on glowering at Shinjiro's poor repair job.

Yes, there was no doubt that Aki was a moron. Luckily, such idiocy could be eventually beat out, while scumbags who intentionally inflicted such wounds were lost causes. All this boy needed was a little love and guidance.

"Not that I give a flying fuck, but no, actually. It's not any of your business, and you didn't do all the work. _Hold still._"

"Your opinion is unneeded, Shinjiro."

Shinjiro lifted his eyes and fixed Mitsuru with a frank stare. Simply because Aki was getting a little tough love didn't mean Mitsuru was getting off the hook.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot: Thank you so much for setting yourself on fire back there. You know how I thoroughly enjoy playing doctor."

"Your medical attention is also unneeded, I assure you," Mitsuru stood up steadily, retrieving her foil haughtily.

"Don't be stupid, Mitsuru," Akihiko snapped, sparing Mitsuru a second irate look.

Shinjiro inched his head to Akihiko, giving him a dull stare. If only Shinjiro had the power to make heads explode with such a stare. Honestly, he'd just gone out on a limb and taken the heat off of this idiot and here Aki was begging for another round in the ring. Thankfully for Shinjiro, Mitsuru seemed finished with Akihiko's immaturity.

She gave her foil a slight bend against her foot.

"If you are simply seeking solace in irritating me, then so be it. If you are truly confused, allow me to clarify: an Agilao gem was my only recourse in disengaging Akihiko from my blade."

Often, Akihiko responded well when Shinjiro treated him like an idiot and quite often the remedy to Aki's anger or annoyance could be teased out with a little bickering and jabbing. He wasn't about to admit that he'd lost his touch, but Shinjiro considered the possibility that the brick heavy eloquence of Mitsuru Kirijo was starting to resonate deeper with his thick-headed and well meaning accomplice.

"Hopefully, he appreciates that more than I do," Shinjiro mumbled, keeping his words to himself and Akihiko.

Akihiko turned an indignant shade of red as Mitsuru swept around.

"I'm going to take a look around the corner. I will keep you in my eyesight."

She stalked off, furiously refined in her step. Shinjiro dropped Akihiko's hand, his role of medic finished. He rubbed his hands together contemplatively, wondering how to best approach the touchy topic of the opposite sex.

"Do you know the difference between a girl and a woman, Aki?"

"I still have one good fist, Shinji."

"A girl relishes in jealous men, a woman doesn't have time for it."

"I'm _not_ jealous."

"You're jealous and passive aggressive, truly a winning combination."

Akihiko glanced away with a mutter.

"You're an ass."

"At least I'm a genuine ass."

Shinjiro gave Akihiko a hard flick to the forehead before he stood up and scratched his neck.

"So what am I supposed to do about it now?" The poor sport said, rubbing the red spot in the middle of forehead.

"Apologize, creep," Shinjiro said shortly, bending over and pulling his axe over his shoulder. "And for God's sake don't make me play doctor anymore."

Akihiko sighed dismally before running his eyes over Shinjiro.

"Where's your hat and coat?" he asked.

Shinjiro shrugged with a light chuckle.

"Lost 'em. I'm sure they'll show up on one of the million floors in Tartarus."

* * *

"How much are you benching these days?"

As Junpei Iori raised his eyes over his handheld game console, there was the diminutive hope that Minato had somehow turned into a blushing girl with fluttering eyelashes. Such imaginings were his only means of handling a possible hit-on from a guy. The tiny hope was utterly quashed when Minato appeared before him with an axe slung over his slouching posture.

Junpei eyed him guardedly

"Is that _Mjolnir_? That's . . ."

Minato's gloomy gaze shone patiently through his angled blue locks and one grave silence later, Junpei's eyes threatened to pop out of his sockets.

"Shit. Am I the new Shinjiro-senpai?"

Minato offered a small smile.

"Keep dreaming, friend. I'm sending you and some of the others in on retrieval."

"Rescue? Tonight?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you have a date?"

Junpei grinned at Minato's quiet jest.

"S'okay. She'll just have to get used to me being a superhero."

* * *

How many days have we lost?

_Impossible to know. _

She held the connection to her teammates by keeping one hand on the wall. Mitsuru looked down the hallway and followed it to the end where the stone ground led to a staircase. Remembering how many floors they had passed was truly difficult, and there may have been times where they had ascended into a higher level without even realizing it. Possible, but improbable.

_He could have died. . . but so could have you._

He would have done the same for. . . any of us.

_Do not misunderstand the source of my frustration, Mitsuru. _

Mitsuru looked to the floor, drawing in several slow breaths.

_You court sacrifice almost exclusively, but knowing who and what you will die for is easy. Only when you know what steels you to live will I become your most formidable weapon._

She drew a breath with the sound of Akihiko and Shinjiro approaching.

"Let's carry on," she started crisply, securing her foil in her belt.

_Do as you will, but remember this:_

"Uh. . . you should probably let me take a look at your arm," said Akihiko.

"That is not necessary," Mitsuru murmured, waiting for her persona to finish her warning.

"Well, I'm sure as hell not doing it," Shinjiro said clearly, stepping between them. He gave Mitsuru a glower.

"Stop wasting time. And if it's not too much trouble, avoid setting yourself on fire in the future. . . You know, if such a thing exists for us at this point."

The sound of rushing footsteps caused a sharp silence to descend upon the foyer.

"Oh, thank God, I've finally found you!"

Arisato Minato came bustling down the stairs, an expression of relief washed over his normally stoic features. "You have no idea how long I've been looking for you, senpai! We must have been separated-"

Penthesilea was not speaking.

Mitsuru could not recall seeing him so abruptly enter another individual's personal space with such enthusiasm, why wasn't Penthesilea-

She winced and her hand shot to her hip.

Arisato's hand reached to touch her just as Shinjiro's axe completed a heavy descent.

The edge of the axe split into his skull cleanly, and with a light stroke from Shinjiro's tip, Arisato's body coiled to the floor and shriveled into a Golden Maya.

"Don't forget the double-tap," Akihiko mentioned as he threw a left hook into the Maya's mask. Shinjiro offered a kick for good measure, and the shadow vanished.

Akihiko dusted off his shoulder, miffed.

"It's like they're not even trying anymore."

"It's just a test. They want to make sure we're still paying attention." Shinjiro muttered, following Akihiko up the darkened stairs.

With another floor of demons and twisted memory looming, Penthesilea's voice rang for a few precious seconds.

_I will not forgive you if you die here._

* * *

Elizabeth felt a shade of annoyance as she looked down at the gleaming card, now nestled in its home position in the compendium.

"Interesting. . ."

She slipped a gloved finger under the edge of the card, and with a strong flick, she threw it into the air and evoked Loki's silhouetted form.

_Good to see you again, dollface._

"It pains me that I cannot say the same."

_Aw, why you gotta be like that?_

"Tell me, and be brief: Why did Arisato-san dismiss you?"

_Can't really say. He sure didn't have to send me off in such a hurry, though. He could have at least let me tag along for the bloodshed._

Elizabeth looked up to the persona without lifting her head.

"What is he planning?"

Loki hummed.

_Death._

Elizabeth looked back to her compendium and began to carefully turn the pages.

"Typically, I don't mind indulging in your games, but you would do well not to lie to me now, Loki."

Loki chuckled, and with a whisper he vanished.

_Wouldn't dream of it, dollface._

Elizabeth snapped the compendium shut, finding the page of her pursuit empty. She look a few strides to the back of the Velvet Room and came to stand before a door covered with a dusty blue curtain.

She reached up and removed the curtain with a sweep.

"With your grace, I will depart."

His back turned to her, Igor merely lifted a hand.

The door opened with a slight creak, and Elizabeth stepped through.

* * *

Akihiko was trying to figure out how simultaneously apologize and remind Mitsuru that her arm needed medical attention when the stairs beneath their feet began to quake. The trio fumbled to brace themselves, but their holds only remained secure for a few sparse seconds before stones around them began to dislodge and collapse.

"Keep to the wall!" Mitsuru yelled above the roar.

A large load of stone poured down from the winding darkness of the stairs.

Akihiko must have been gaping, for at that moment Polydeuces, who had remained suspiciously silent during Akihiko's masterful behavior before Shinjiro and Mitsuru now found it wise to voice his concern over the current situation.

_DODGE, DIPSHIT!_

Akihiko dipped and stumbled over the rolling wave of bricks under his feet, narrowly missing a cluster of stone as it tumbled past his shoulder. He looked over to Mitsuru, who had flattened herself against the wall and was shielding herself before he realized that the crushing force of the void was coming at them from the mouth as well as the source of the stairs.

_SHIIIIIIT, DODGE AGAIN!_

Akihiko made another quick dive away from a loosened stone, and preemptively swung out of the way as he saw a brick hurtling toward him-

_DON'T DODGE _THAT_!_

He pivoted blindly, and witnessed the brick crash into Shinjiro's temple. With the stairs underneath him rapidly disintegrating, Shinjiro wobbled, tripped, tumbled, and disappeared into the encroaching black.

Akihiko dove after him on impulse, only to be pulled in by a separate abyss.


	12. Chapter 12

The world around him was pestering him to awaken.

A series of hindrances were troubling his sleep: an audacious beam of light was boring against his eyelids, a dull chill buzzing around him, and of course, whatever it was that was nuzzling him.

Never being one to oblige obnoxious nagging, he rolled onto his side with a dry groan and growled when the bricklike texture of the ground scraped against his cheek. The big nuzzling something objected with a series of soft chortles, and he emitted another, more vociferous groan.

He crumpled himself into a determined ball.

"I don't have any more carrots, Tobikuma," he grumbled.

The ground crunched with the shifting of hooves, and soon it fell silent. Far from feeling comfortable in his current situation, he settled back into his unhappy lump on the ground and redoubled his efforts to shut out the world.

A mild butt to the head sent Shinjiro sprawling onto his back, eyes flashing at a stinging winter sun.

"Ah, sonofa-"

He turned away, and nearly slammed skulls with an expectant black stallion.

The horse offered Shinjiro a softer, not quite apologetic, nudge to the head. Shinjiro blanched, having trouble comprehending the enormous presence.

Carefully, Tobikuma ran his lips over Shinjiro's sleeve, ears twitching as he went. Only partially aware of the horse's probing, Shinjiro gaped at the shabby blanket draped over Tobikuma's back, recalling the weeks of affectionate toil he and Miki had spent crafting it. Shinjiro flinched when Tobikuma emitted an excited gurgle as he neared Shinjiro's pockets. Numb, Shinjiro obliged Tobikuma and reached into his pockets.

"'The hell?"

Shinjiro had all but a few seconds to peer at the carrot sticks in his hand before Tobikuma eagerly pressed his lips to his palm. The carrots disappeared with a few soft crunching sounds.

Satisfied, Tobikuma investigated Shinjiro for additional hidden treasures with a few sniffs before turning away and making for a trough of water at the end of the pasture.

He was left sitting in a field of frozen snow, squinting down at his hand covered with Tobikuma's hay-speckled saliva. Shinjiro dizzily looked over his shoulder and saw the humble orphanage from his childhood, not yet a smoldering pile of ash.

Tobikuma's tail swished in the background.

Shinjiro stood up and began a pensive search for an axe.

* * *

"How many days have I lost?"

The murmur escaped her lips as she strained her neck and followed the stretch of wall to its full height. The walls in here always looked like they went on forever, but this one could actually be measured.

There was something on the other side.

She felt inclined to interrupt the trek down the strangely colored corridor. She rubbed her eyes wearily as she tried to remember what she had been doing before she started wandering. She toyed with the painfully intricate sleeves at her wrist. Maybe she was dreaming.

This was not the first time she'd worn this kimono, and she found herself pressed to feel apprehension at the realization, but instead she found herself continuing with a slow determination down the queer hallway.

She would find what was behind the wall soon.

* * *

The tower of scaffolding under his feet was at least two stories high, enough to offer a stunning night view of the cityscape as it burned into a column of ash.

Sometimes he would stand here for hours, days, weeks on end and sometimes he'd only be here for a fleeting moment before the city was gone.

It was often that Shinji would be here, haunting this strange observation deck beside him. In recent years, Mitsuru had appeared here and in recent days, Minato.

No one ever spoke.

The metropolis shone with a quiet orange glow and Akihiko looked on, waiting.

* * *

With one foot in front of the other, brow fiercely knitted in concentration, she thought of all the horrible things that would happen should a blemish appear on this kimono. The maids might even tell father. . .

The snow was hard enough that she could tread on the top without falling through, but still she kept her arms out stiffly to her sides for balance.

The sun was bright, but the snow was blinding and her eyes were starting to hurt from squinting so hard at the white canvas under her feet.

She was so keen on avoiding a stumble that she walked head on into a stranger.

* * *

The little girl made a fretful squeak as she sharply corrected her footing. The kid was so absorbed with keeping upright that she didn't seem to notice Shinjiro's impressive leap back.

She looked up at him, eyes glaring from the snow's reflection.

Judging by the fine apparel she wore, she was not of the same stock as the other rambunctious orphans who occupied the orphanage behind him. She grew rigid as she examined Shinjiro's looming stance and pursed her lips with distrust.

"Are you a monster?" She asked with trepidation.

Shinjiro raised his eyebrows, giving her query fair consideration.

"You don't look like a monster," she said in a tone that clearly stated he was taking too long to answer the question.

"Thanks."

After rubbing her eyes and finding him still standing, she appraised him again briefly before she began scanning the outlying field with consternation. She tilted her head upon spotting the tall barren building.

"Do you live there?"

Shinjiro inhaled deeply, his eyes not quite making it over the orphanage. Her hair was distracting enough to warrant a second glace. That was a pretty unique shade of red, a color he did not recall seeing on any of the heads of his co-inhabitants.

"You could say that. You lost?"

The question was lost on the tiny wanderer as she continued to survey her environment with an expression of growing bewilderment.

Shinjiro frowned.

"How do I know you're not a monster?" he asked, not entirely joking.

She snapped to attention.

"How preposterous!" she exclaimed, insulted.

Had it been any other kid, Shinjiro might have been amused by this reaction.

Shinjiro clicked his tongue. The dignified conduct of this particular child was unnerving (much like Amada's defiantly mature demeanor). She couldn't be any older than eight . . . had he known her at the orphanage?

She frowned, an imagined crease in her kimono demanding her attention.

No orphan was that meticulous about the way they dressed, God, he'd never even seen a kid wear anything other than the cloth yukatas at this place. So if the kid wasn't an orphan, what was she doing here?

Shinjiro looked up to see a red-headed princess in distress.

"I hope you don't really think I'm a monster. . . I'm really not!"

She crossed her arms.

He stepped back.

"_Shit._"

Her jaw dropped in outrage.

"Father says swearing is a sign of lackluster intelligence."

The sweet curls might have thrown him off, but the stinging rhetoric and aristocratic glare eradicated all doubts: the child before him was Mitsuru Kirijo.

* * *

She reacted with curiosity when he knelt before her, his incredulous expression intriguing her.

"You don't recognize me?"

The snow blindness was obviously starting to bother her. She shook her head with a painful squint.

"No. . . But," she looked into his eyes, "you don't seem bad."

He smiled broadly at the grudging admission.

"You're not so scary yourself."

* * *

The dull roar of the engulfed city had lulled him into a sedate state of consciousness, one he realized only when the trance was broken by the sound of splitting grates.

Akihiko looked down.

The scaffolding was splitting in half, a pit of fire growling below.

He looked back up to the city, and then with lowered eyes to his side.

No Minato, no Mitsuru, and no Shinji.

The tower groaned again, and Akihiko noticed he had one foot hovering over a void. The other half of the scaffolding had apparently split off.

He would leave the waiting area soon, and as he closed his eyes he felt the other half of the tower plummet.

Akihiko sighed as he hurtled to the ground.

* * *

Shinjiro stood up, feeling strangely calm in the presence of this pre-tyrant child and the specter of a black stallion. He looked down at his companion quickly and folded his arms while following her gaze to Tobikuma. She addressed the munching giant with the same curious look given to Shinjiro a few moments earlier, and he understood it to be her look for all sentient beings not called 'father.'

He looked at the orphanage and ran his hand over his mouth and soon his eyes became fixed on the stables crammed behind the kitchen annex. With the exception of Tobikuma's easy chewing, the world was at a standstill.

Things were murky in his mind and without an artifact or a voice; there was nothing about his surroundings to revive a snapshot of time. If this was his memory, then it ought to be set on a stage a few hundred yards away against a star-filled night, with him choking from terror and the razor sharp cold.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, eyes straining to see beyond his former home.

Likewise, if this was Aki's memory, the stage would be set on the courtyard of the orphanage.

Shinjiro looked down as Mitsuru hugged herself, an invisible chill sweeping through.

As if things weren't convoluted enough, Mitsuru's presence was another potential trap door. She was either being manipulated as a decoy or was also being lured into a separate trap by way of her memories. With the current number of variables, it would be easy to make the wrong assumption and take a similarly disastrous course of action. Unlike his first encounter with mind manipulation, Shinjiro did not try to fool himself by considering coincidence as a likely option. This was an ostentatious display of controlled disaster, orchestrated by a highly sophisticated shadow.

"Shit heads," he was mindful of his pitch, wary of another reprimand from the pint-sized prude at his side.

"Are you thinking about something important?"

Her bright eyes almost brought a smile to his lips.

"I-"

Shinjiro was shook to his knees mid-sentence. A deep tremor thrummed against the ground, it was the first in a series of gentle threats before the ground began a steady and violent quake. Mitsuru fell over next to him and together they floundered at the world evolving around them.

Shinjiro scarcely took note when Mitsuru scrambled to fit between his arm and chest. He draped an arm on her for cover as the sheet of blue sky was fractured from horizon to horizon.

A shell was being cracked above their heads.

The two halves rumbled apart and fell away. The sun, previously stuck at an eternal high noon, was gliding away. Trapped outside of the time lapse, Mitsuru and Shinjiro watched it disappear without leaving dusk, without a sound.

A fantastic blanket of stars fell over them.

He looked to the dumbfounded child under his arm and watched her startled exhale freeze in the night air.

* * *

"'The hell was that?" Junpei asked, _Mjolnir_ looking absurd over his lanky shoulders.

The quaking had stopped about ten seconds ago, but they were still gathering their wits. That much could be said for Junpei anyway, for Aigis and Koromaru weren't much for words, especially in situations that demanded vigilance.

"Fuuka?" Minato asked, looking over his team quickly.

"I'm sorry, everyone. . . " she seemed dazed. "I don't know what that was . . . Let me look ahead."

Minato gave an irreverent look to the floor as though the flood of unpleasant possibilities in his mind was splashing about his ankles.

"Um, it looks like you're getting close to Floor 202. Isn't that where. . ."

"Yes," Minato finished for her. "Can you get a good look at it?"

"Lucia's saying something about falling stones. It sounds dangerous, Minato-kun."

He nodded.

"How many floors before we're there?"

"Five more floors. Please, be careful."

Minato turned to Junpei with a small smile.

"Looks like your job just got a whole lot easier."

"Heh, you got that right."

Junpei's panic seemed to die a little. Unaccustomed to _Mjolnir_'s weight, Junpei shifted the hammer to his other shoulder before asking the question Minato had been dreading.

"Uh, what _is_ my job, exactly?"

* * *

Shinjiro forced himself to avoid looking at Tobikuma. He knew the horse would still be chewing idly beside his trough, despite the dramatic shift that had unfolded around them. Tobikuma was a prop, a tool to keep Shinjiro rooted when hell broke out. Even knowing this, Shinjiro wouldn't be able to fight the temptation to stay here and try to save his friend.

This was Aki's world, at least that's what he told himself to believe. Hours (or was it days? moments?) ago, Shinjiro had come to terms with the nature of his persona and he could not let any regrets turn him back now.

Shinjiro stood up and pulled the tiny Mitsuru to her feet.

"What's going on?" She whispered, as if the world might shatter again if she spoke any louder.

"I don't know," he answered quickly, "but we can't stay here."

* * *

Akihiko did not recognize this room.

The walls were painted white, and there were no windows or furniture. The only way in or out was through a door with one small window and beyond that tiny window, he could see flames.

He could stay here forever, if he pleased.

Logically, he should have feared fire. Polydeuces should cringe at the striking of a match and ice should not be a foe, but a nurturing force fit to drive him to perfection. Fire had taken his sister and his home, so why was it not embedded in his soul?

He walked to the door and let his hand hover over the knob.

In his gut, Akihiko did not have the spine to loathe fire. It had taken his sister and his home, but he could not blame it for his failure, his cowardice, or his flight.

The door creaked open, the knob untouched by Akihiko's fingers.

* * *

It turned out that arguing with eight year old Mitsuru Kirijo was just as pointless as arguing with eighteen year old Mitsuru Kirijo. Not wanting to access the orphanage from the kitchen annex, he opted for a route that would take them out of the field along a muddied path which came out around the greenhouse. There was a back door used for deliveries that could easily broken into. As long as Akihiko's memory kept the same details, Shinjiro could navigate this place.

His only problem was the finicky girl now attempting to mount the wooden fence along Tobikuma's pasture.

Shinjiro quickly hopped the fence while Mitsuru carefully strategized her footing on the planks.

"Trust me; it _really_ doesn't matter if you rip that thing."

"_Yes it does!_" Mitsuru insisted, upset at the unfathomable task of climbing a fence.

With a groan, he picked her up by the waist and hoisted her over the fence before depositing her in the snow. Perhaps he still couldn't win an argument with her, but for right now, he was bigger than her.

He allowed himself a small, vindicated smile.

* * *

"I do not like this plan," Aigis said immediately.

Koromaru yipped in agreement.

Minato looked to Junpei, not appearing particularly moved by the opinion of the others.

Junpei shook his head.

"What the hell do you want to do that for?"

He shrugged.

"Gotta find something."

Junpei stood agape.

"WHAT? You wait until _now _to look for loot? 'The hell's the matter with you, man?"

"What I'm looking for. . . I can only hold on to it for a few seconds. That's why we need to tackle this separately."

"One of us will look for the item," said Aigis.

Minato shook his head.

"It will be faster if I go alone."

Koromaru growled and Minato gave Aigis a look.

"Don't translate that. Look, it's going to take you a while to get through that wall, anyway. I'll be gone five, ten tops. In the meantime, I need you guys to be there in case our senpai need immediate help."

Minato's three friends cast looks of silent doubt, and feeling pressured to reassure them in some fashion, the Junior offered a carefree smile and a lie.

"I'll meet you guys on 202."

* * *

Shinjiro realized he must have been walking rather briskly because when he stopped, Mitsuru was a good way behind him. The path was buried under two feet of snow, something Shinjiro should have realized when he was retracing the memory of this night.

He remembered the struggle of running through a field thickened with snow and ice as he raced toward Tobikuma that night - undoubtedly, this night. He jogged back to her and saw that she was past her ankles in the snow and had been crying, her delicate kimono tattered at the hem and sleeves.

"I am in so much trouble," she murmured softly, quickly biting her lip to prevent a sob from escaping. Shinjiro's previous feeling of triumph was quickly replaced by the queasy sensation of self-loathing.

Shinjiro knelt down and pulled her weight into his arms, standing up with a grumble.

"God, you're heavy."

She rushed to secure her arms around his neck.

Shinjiro, despite feeling _painfully_ awkward carrying what was to become a fearsome heiress, he could not help but lay a firm arm across Mitsuru's back with the hopes that the girl's shivering would stop.


	13. Chapter 13

With a sigh, he buried his head deeper into the soft down of his pillow and pulled the blanket to his chin. The gentle ticking of the grandfather clock lulled him into a peaceful rest, its swaying pendulum anchoring him solidly in the domestic bliss of his living room. His predilection for the antique grew as a child and in the absence of the everlasting arms of a Mother and father. He was so charmed by the soothing metronome, that whenever he found himself feeling sad or bathed in the sweat of a nightmare, he would emerge from his room and make fort under the clock's eternal ticking.

He shifted happily in his makeshift bed, and a soft, slender hand brushed against his forehead.

"Are you feeling better, sweetheart?"

A sharp chill raced down his spine, and Akihiko's arm began to throb with pain.

* * *

_Darkness clouds my sight._

She furrowed her eyebrows, lips parted.

_His footsteps fall silent on my ears, his shadow eludes my eyes._

We have to keep trying.

Lucia exhaled and Fuuka felt a cool breeze comb through her hair. An occaisional sliver of light would pass over her eyes as her persona glimpsed snapshots of Minato's sprinting through blackened corridors and blind corners. The floor he had chosen to explore was a total blackout, and behind Lucia's shroud Fuuka and Minato were quite literally walking in the dark. Still, the moment Minato separated from the others, Lucia's orb was alight with a nervous energy. There wasn't anything abnormal about that, after all this was a dangerous mission.

To say Fuuka was deeply unsettled by Minato's tight-lipped plan would be an understatement. His explanation of his strategy had been vague, and too many spontaneous elements were suddenly emerging as potential traps. When he left the others so suddenly and without warning, Fuuka began to think that he was doing more than searching. The trust among them was just beginning to thicken, but tonight, Fuuka had come dreadfully close to questioning Minato's leadership. When he left the others without mentioning what it was he was looking for, Fuuka had expected him to at least confide in her the object of his pursuit. He did not, and Fuuka, still timid in her new role, did not feel it right to ask.

It was as though Minato had felt the consternation of Lucia, for at that moment his voice reached her at the bottom of Tartarus.

"Do me a favor and keep an eye on the others, Fuuka. I'm almost done here."

"Are. . . are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Fuuka tilted her head back slightly, and Lucia raised her eyes to the strange corner on the 202nd floor, where Junpei, Aigis, and Koro-chan were waiting in tense silence.

She heard Minato's voice again.

"What's up, Junpei?"

Fuuka watched Junpei as he scratched his head.

"It's just like what you were saying, dude. There's some big cracks in this wall and some weird glow comin' from behind. Looks like another wall back here."

_Deception awaits._

Fuuka shivered.

Junpei had scarcely finished his sentence when Minato chimed in robustly.

"Bring it down. I'll be up in a minute."

Fuuka watched under the safety of Lucia's shield as Junpei's lips formed an determined grimace. She closed her eyes as he raised the massive hammer in his arms and brought it crashing into the wall.

_He will find you. He will find us all._

* * *

Akihiko buried his head in the grass, a howl of anguish trapped in his throat.

A few feet away, he registered Miki's blood curdling scream and the sound of the back door being flung open. Mother would come running in a moment.

Akihiko gasped, realizing the wind had been knocked out of him.

His sister loved him too much to ever say _'I told you so'_, but Akihiko couldn't help but sourly think that she had been right about the stability of the upper branches. After testing his weight on one branch, Akihiko thought his footing was secure. From below, Miki had covered her eyes, terrified at the sight of her brother so high up.

"Aki," she had complained, with one eye peering from behind her hands. "Let's just go to the shrine."

"You're such a baby," he responded, annoyed. "I've done this a million times before."

With Akihiko's weight confidently being pushed on the tree's limb, the branch snapped easily and dropped him to the earth. He blacked out for a moment after he hit the ground, but Miki's terrorifed response had brought him to.

The back door slammed again.

"Aki, I can't find mom anywhere!"

"Miki," Akihiko grunted, "Listen to me, okay?"

His sister dropped to the ground sniffling and pushed her face close to her brother's.

"Go to the Hideki house next door and get someone."

"But, Aki, what about mom? Why isn't she here?"

"I don't know, but my arm is really hurt," he forced a grimacing smile. "You can do it, Miki. I know you can."

"Okay, I'll go get someone right away!" Miki leapt up and bounded across the lawn to the neighbor's house. Akihiko swallowed and forced his lungs to breathe over the pain in his arm. Mother was probably at the store or visiting one of the neighbors. Such behavior was not unusual. In the past year, Akihiko had grown used to her random disappearances for long stretches of time, and used to her returning in the later hours to make a quick meal or say goodnight.

Miki had trouble acclimating to this new Mother, especially since they had just lost their father a little less than a year ago. She was still little and didn't understand the extent his death had on Mother, but Akihiko saw it everyday in her controlled avoidance of meeting his eyes. She had always told him he looked so much like his father, and now, even though she never said anything, Akihiko could feel the bitterness emanating from her cool beauty whenever her eyes met his.

* * *

He soon found himself at the hospital, wincing at a glowing X-ray of his arm, his bone split at an angry angle.

"We'll have to reset it," the doctor said gravely.

Miki clung to him, eyes wide in terror.

Akihiko pulled his eyes away from his sister and looked at the doctor sternly.

"I don't want her to see it."

Miki dug into Akihiko's waist, grinding her teeth.

"No, Aki!"

He patted her head.

"It's okay, I'll be better after this. Go outside and wait with Hideki-san, mom will be here soon."

A nurse led Miki out of the room, even though the little girl kept looking back at him fearfully. Akihiko vociferously denied any painkillers, and when the doctor reset the bone, Akihiko did not cry out. He and Miki spent the night together at the hospital, insisting to Hideki-san that their Mother would be there any moment. Akihiko fell asleep in the waiting room, with Miki curled up snugly under his arm.

Their Mother never came.

* * *

He took a step, and stopped, the crunching of the snow under his sole ringing of finality. Shinjiro tightened his arms around Mitsuru as he swallowed. He was hoping that the sight of his old refuge should would result in a miniscule amount of comfort, or at least nostalgia, but the sallow and aged wood of the orphanage only struck of sadness, a monument to memory.

It was getting colder, and closer to that unforgettable stinging sensation of that winter night settling into his chest.

"Are we going in there?" little Mitsuru asked timidly.

Shinjiro looked to Mitsuru, his expression heavy with bad news. He looked back to the orphanage and chose not answer right away. The longer he stared, the more Shinjiro began to realize just what sort of hell was about to engulf them.

His primary tactical strategist had taken the form of a small and defenseless child and his Jack of all trades was most likely well-embedded somewhere in a deeply rooted drama. As the only member of the party who had retained a speck of sanity, Shinjiro was responsible for extracting them from the shadow's grip. For the now, the biggest item of concern was finding and Akihiko and pulling him out of this shitfest.

Mitsuru's shivering stopped, and Shinjiro's panic grew.

Once he entered this arena, it was only a matter of time before the fire started, which would make it even more perilous for Mitsuru and her fire-weak persona.

"_Fuck_."

She did not reprimand him.

There was no way he could leave her out here. If the hypothermia didn't kill her, a shadow could easily overtake her. Shinjiro drew in a steady breath before he gave Mitsuru a firm nudge to the shoulder. She stirred weakly against him.

"Do you remember a time where you had to be brave, kid?"

Mitsuru burrowed her head against Shinjiro's hair.

"Yes," came the muffled whisper.

Shinjiro shifted her weight in his arms as he resumed toward the door.

"Good. Because we have to be brave now."

* * *

She opened her eyes for a moment, grounding herself in the intense preamble of their mission, and saw Lucia's palms twitch. Her own fingers shook soon after and Fuuka chided herself for her inattentiveness before quickly scouting for the 202nd floor. Junpei was still hammering at the wall, while Aigis and Koromaru stood by looking uneasy.

_The beast is stalking its prey._

Fuuka held a hand to her chest, Lucia's whispers sending ripples of dread through her body. By nature, her persona's words were more of the esoteric sort, but these warnings were never uttered lightly and Fuuka knew immediately the weight they carried. In this situation, she was uncertain who was chasing who, though. Should she find Minato?

Fuuka bit her lip.

He had instructed her not to, so he must have had reasonable cause to assign her eyes to Junpei and the others. . .

Right?

_I feel treachery as water feels a pebble ripple against its surface. Danger strikes on all sides, young oracle._

"How's that wall coming?"

Minato was breathless.

Lucia tensed at the sound of his voice, what was going on here?

A black pool of despair filled her chest and her knees buckled.

"Where the hell are you?" Junpei barked.

The fumes of rotting corpses filled her nostrils. Through a veil of fog, she saw Minato leap up the stairs to the 202nd floor, his trajectory pointed directly at Junpei, Aigis, and Koromaru. The sight was soon lost to a vision of her friend's bodies, strewn across the bloodied floors of Tartarus.

_Let the chaste flee and the wicked kneel, Death has found you._

* * *

Elizabeth watched the Magician throw his enormous hammer against the wall she had meticulously labored over while Chariot and Strength stood by in wary observation.

Her eyes gleamed with fascination.

She had expected him to try something, _anything_, and she had not been disappointed. His unassuming and demure temper was lovely, but an obvious guise and one that could not withstand ambition. No, what surprised her was the extent of his willingness to risk the lives of his party members in order to reach his reward.

Elizabeth had to admit, even she was fooled at their last conversation, and she had walked away slightly disappointed that he was turning out to be a humble martyr. After all, his earnest pleas were more than convincing at their last meeting, and his reassurances that he was only thinking of his friends by requesting to cancel the request fell sincere on her adept ears. Clearly, she thought sweetly as she looked at the ignorant hammering of the Magician, their safety the utmost importance to the young man.

Always the timely hostess, Elizabeth turned away from her observation deck to greet Cocytus' new guests. After a little tidying up, she would have to pay Minato a courtesy visit and congratulate him on his impeccable treachery.

She was so enamored with Minato's devious planning that she did not hear the chains scraping against the stone floor as they followed Arisato Minato onto the 202nd floor.

* * *

She had felt the symptoms of his pesilent presence enough times to know when his guns were hot and ready to cut through flesh. Lucia felt her master's wave of nausea, and the protective globe began to vibrate against Fuuka's ears. Knowing she would never grow accustomed to this feeling, Fuuka could only hold herself within the sanctity of Lucia's dome and choke.

"Run," she whimpered.

Junpei grew pale as Koromaru whined.

_Until your precious clutch returns, you must not falter._

Fuuka steadied herself at Lucia's encouragement, scarcely hearing Minato's nonplussed query from above.

"Where is he, Fuuka?"

"He's advancing from the North East corridor on your floor, please, get out of there!"

"Shit," said Minato with absolute calm. "Junpei, use Traesto, I'll meet you down at entrance."

"Are you serious? I have another two good knocks on this wall, dude-"

"We'll come back in a second when he's gone, but we have to get off his radar first."

With blackness creeping into her vision, Fuuka took to one knee. Outside, the muffled shouts of Amada and Yukari bounced off of Lucia's shield.

"God damn it," Junpei conceded.

She watched him reach into his pocket and toss a small gem into the air, and with a pop, they disappeared from her vision. She heard their footsteps roll in from the portal, making certain to hear for their voices before she collapsed entirely.

* * *

Shinjiro ignored the plummeting sensation in his stomach when the first floorboard of the back entryway made its signature creak. He had crept in this way enough times to know exactly how to break it without making it irreparable. After entering the drafty storage room, Shinjiro carried Mitsuru through a moldy passageway and into the kitchen.

Just don't get caught up in the minutia, Shinjiro told himself as he gently set Mitsuru down and took her hand. The kitchen smelled of apples and cinnamon, and Shinjiro had to firmly tug Mitsuru back when she strayed toward a basket of pumpkin muffins on a nearby counter top.

"Stay close to me," he whispered sternly.

"Are there monsters here?" she quickly skipped closer to him.

He stopped and looked down at her.

"Yes."

Mitsuru looked up at him gravely before she took a deep breath and nodded primly. Faced with the bravery of a small girl, Shinjiro swallowed back the feeling of his heart melting and tugged her along with a slow urgency.

* * *

Fuuka opened her eyes to Yukari's softly looking down on her.

"Hey there."

She lifted her head off of her friend's lap, and Yukari immediately helped Fuuka to her feet.

"You passed out, Fuuka. Don't push yourself so hard-"

Before Yukari could finish, the others rushed Fuuka in a frenzy.

"Where is he-"

"That ASSHOLE! I'm going to tear him a new-"

_"Arf! Arf! Arf-"_

"You really didn't see him at all before you came back-"

"No, the prick took off and then told us to meet him here-"

"We must find him this instant-"

Fuuka brushed her fingers against her temple, conducting her count even as her head spun: Koro-chan, Junpei-kun, Ken-kun, Yukari-chan, Aigis-

"What happened? Where's Minato?" Fuuka asked dizzily.

The entryway to Tartarus went silent and Fuuka lost her breath.

"We were kind of hoping you would be able to tell us that," Yukari murmured, her eyes large.

* * *

After glancing down at the cast on his arm and then briefly back at his mom, Akihiko closed his eyes, his Mother's pained smile burned on the back of his eyelids. At that moment, the only sound that entered his ears was the sound of the grandfather clock ticking away the seconds. He should be thinking something right now, but what? Should he be thinking about how happy he was to see her smiling again?

He opened his eyes to that smile, but it did not warm him.

"You gave your sister quite the scare, Aki," she said firmly, her hand still running through his hair.

"I'm sorry, mom."

A vacant smile hung on her lips as she continued her caresses.

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

Akihiko's eyes focused on the towering clock.

"Miki," his Mother called. "Your brother is awake now."

She must have been waiting on the stairs, because the sound of footsteps scuttling hastily down the stairs was too sudden and quick for her to be in her room. Relief washed over her face when she saw Akihiko's short lived smile. The stress on her features blazed into anger and Miki burst into tears.

"I hate you! Don't ever do that again!"

Akihiko looked at her in surprise as she rushed into him, sobbing uncontrollably onto his shoulder as she draped herself around his neck. The familiar shape of her hands and even her strength as she held him moved Akihiko's thoughts to a strange destination. The strangeness of this scene was uncomfortable, and he quickly took himself away from it.

He closed his eyes.

_Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock._

"Miki, honey, let your brother rest. He's had a long day."

Sniveling, Miki obeyed and peeled herself away from Akihiko's chest.

Their Mother tucked a loose strand of hair behind Miki's ear and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"Don't worry, honey. You have all the time in the world to be with us," she cooed before planting a soft kiss on his sister's forehead.

"We'll always be together."

A bird chirped outside and Akihiko opened his eyes, his lips falling into a limp frown.

The clock was dead.


	14. Chapter 14

Shinjiro nursed his side as Akihiko gently turned Mitsuru onto her back.

"For fucks sake," Shinjiro groaned.

She had been slashed by the rapier of a masked Maya and, by some streak of heiress luck, had managed to stay standing for the duration of the battle. Once the Maya had been eliminated, Mitsuru had commended them on a job well done and instructed them to return to the dormitory. The three had made it a good twenty feet away from the site of the battle before Mitsuru stumbled and crashed to the pavement.

"I was thinking it was something worse," Akihiko closed his eyes in relief as he tipped his evoker to his forehead.

They watched as the soft tendrils of Dia wound through Mitsuru's torn flesh, and within seconds a fatal wound became a simple cut.

Shinjiro was hardly surprised when Akihiko insisted on carrying Mitsuru back to the dorm. One, because even after an hour of fighting at full strength, Akihiko would never admit fatigue, and two, after nearly a lifetime of friendship that was better described as brotherhood, Shinjiro was convinced Akihiko was born atop a white horse with sword and shield in hand.

"You ok?" Akihiko inquired.

"She's going to be a real pill about this tomorrow," Shinjiro replied as he scowled at a streak of blood on his coat. "She probably won't even apologize for ruining my coat."

Akihiko eased Mitsuru over his shoulder.

"She won't apologize because she won't remember ruining your shitty coat. You'll both get over it."

"I keep telling you we need to start slipping her drugs. It would make everyone's morning so much better."

Akihiko chuckled wearily as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Let's go."

They walked home in silence, both too exhausted to shoot the shit. Once back at their dormitory, the two young men carefully returned Mitsuru to her room and, agreeing that there would be no rest for the wicked tonight, headed down to the kitchen for a late night meal.

* * *

Akihiko couldn't stop laughing.

Shinjiro rubbed his face with one free hand while the other hand cracked an egg. Despite Mitsuru's less than apologetic Dia, his ribs were still burning from a series of unpleasant stab wounds she had dealt him while enraged under the shadow's hold. Tonight was the closest he'd come to actually being afraid of Mitsuru, and Akihiko made no secret that he found that notion highly amusing.

"Why is this suddenly so fucking funny?" Shinjiro asked, unable to hide his own chuckle.

"Because I just remembered the look on your face," Akihiko spluttered.

Shinjiro turned around and gave Akihiko his best impression of being terrified with comical large eyes and a gaping mouth.

Akihiko shook his head.

"Nice try, but it was funnier than that. Now, you just sort of look constipated."

"Fuck off," Shinjiro retorted with a snicker, scooping a pile of eggs onto a plate and sliding across the table to his friend. "I'd like to see you fend off a psychotic dominatrix with a sword."

"It's not her fault," Akihiko reminded him, his laughter slowly dying.

"Hmm. . ."

Shinjiro flipped a pancake, and behind him, he heard the tinkle of Akihiko's chopsticks rest against his plate.

"It's heavier than I remember."

"You asked for three eggs last time," Shinjiro replied lightly as he artfully wielded his spatula. "I'm not going to do any more tweaking, so forget about asking me for two and a half."

Expecting the sensation of a glare hot on his back, Shinjiro glanced over his shoulder and found Akihiko focused absently on the wall. Shinjiro resumed his pancake flipping.

"Jesus, if it's really that bad-"

"You learned how to cook from Sotō-san, right?"

Shinjiro paused, unsure of what Aki was getting at.

"The one and only."

Shinjiro piled a stack of pancakes onto a plate and gathered another scoop of eggs for himself before joining Akihiko at the table. Shinjiro went about shoveling food into his mouth, still unsure of what was on Akihiko's mind. His grey-haired companion continued to stare at the wall, his meal forgotten.

Shinjiro inhaled a lump of food and licked his teeth clean.

"Feeling nostalgic, are we?"

"No," Akihiko answered tersely.

Shinjiro stared.

"It's just. . . well. . ." Akihiko struggled for words and Shinjiro patiently waited for the inarticulate fighter to gather his wits. "Do you ever wish you that you had had a mom to teach you that stuff?"

Shinjiro sat back in his chair and rubbed his hands together.

"I don't know who my mother was. For all I know, she could have been shit in the kitchen."

Akihiko smiled wearily.

"I'm grateful for Sotō-san," Shinjiro muttered.

Shinjiro could tell that answer did not satisfy his friend. He returned heartily to his meal, now armed with a better idea of what was running through Akihiko's mind.

"You know, in some ways, I'm grateful I didn't know her," Shinjiro bristled.

Akihiko scrunched his forehead.

"Why?"

Shinjiro shrugged.

"The more I know about her, the more I understand. The more I understand, the more I love," Shinjiro began ripping his pancakes apart, stopping briefly to pick his teeth. "The more I love her, the more difficult it is to live without her after she's dead."

Akihiko shook his head as Shinjiro finished his thought.

"The less I know, the less pain it causes me in the end."

The kitchen was filled with sound of Shinjiro eating for a few moments as Akihiko gaped.

"Shinji," Akihiko murmured. "That's a shitty way to live."

Shinjiro nodded in agreement.

"I didn't say I was happy to not know her. Just grateful," Shinjiro went to the sink and filled a glass with tap water.

"So be thankful you knew your mother, Aki," he tipped the rim to his mouth. "Be thankful you loved her, be thankful you lost her," Shinjiro folded his arms with a wide yawn.

"You'll live a fuller life than me."

Akihiko lowered his eyes.

"Shinji-"

Both young men looked suddenly to the doorway of the kitchen as Mitsuru, freshly changed into a sweater and dress pants, stepped into the scene.

Shinjiro smiled at her wryly, arms still folded.

"There's no killing you, is there?"

Mitsuru returned his smile softly.

"I saw your coat, Shinjiro. I'm sorry, I-"

"Don't worry about it," he said amicably.

Shinjiro met Akihiko's smug look with a wink.

"Aki thinks it's _shitty_."

Mitsuru looked to Akihiko questioningly.

Akihiko fumbled as he stood up from his seat.

"Uh, are you hungry? Do you want to sit down? I can make us some more pancakes-"

"Both of you sit down and stay the hell away from my stove. I'll do it," Shinjiro said as he turned around and turned a few knobs.

"Thank you," Mitsuru said graciously, sitting down.

"So. . . how are you feeling?" Akihiko asked.

Shinjiro slipped a couple strips of bacon beside the eggs sizzling in the pan.

"Very well, thanks to you. Thank you for. . . assisting me return to the dormitory."

"Oh, uh, no problem."

This sort of exchange was so typical to Shinjiro by now that he hardly paid attention to the awkward conversation of his teammates. With his creation complete, Shinjiro arranged the meal on a plate and presented it to Mitsuru with a pair of chopsticks.

"Hey," Akihiko said immediately, "why didn't I get any bacon?"

Shinjiro resumed attacking his pancakes, delighted with Mitsuru's expression as she looked over her plate with wide eyes.

"You'll get fat," Shinjiro said easily.

Akihiko drew back in his chair.

"What? I'll get fat? I've got the best metabolism of anyone at this table-"

"You'll get fat and logy," He reiterated drolly.

Mitsuru wisely began eating to avoid becoming involved in this conversation, but both young men took notice as the corner of her lips turned slightly.

"Those pancakes have already given you a double chin."

"You asshole," Akihiko remarked, shaking his head.

Shinjiro studied Akihiko as he stole a glance at Mitsuru, and smiled in response to her attempts to gracefully eat the bacon on her plate. With a sigh, Shinjiro propped an elbow on the table and leaned his head over to Mitsuru.

"You remember your mother, Kirijo?"

Akihiko froze.

Mitsuru met his lazy gaze and quietly swallowed her food.

"You don't have to answer that," Akihiko said firmly, fixing Shinjiro with a more than slightly murderous look.

Shinjiro smiled into his hand.

Mitsuru shook her head and rested her chopsticks against her plate.

"It's all right," she said softly, looking at Akihiko and then to Shinjiro.

"I only remember her funeral."

* * *

Remember a time where you had to be brave.

She closed her eyes and gripped the older boy's hand as a feeling of distress slowly swelled within her. Monsters were one matter, but if she had to choose one thing that frightened her the most, it was wandering through this strange and empty place not knowing was going to happen.

Her heart was thumping so loudly in her chest, she thought the boy at her side would at any moment notice it and tell her to silence it lest they be discovered by a roving demon. He was kind, though, even if he was a little strange. When he asked her if she could remember a time where she had been brave, she had been compelled to say yes, but the truth was that Mitsuru couldn't remember a time so much as she could recall a distant memory, something like a dream, where she had been faced with something frightening. Was that the same thing?

They came to the foot of a flight of stairs. Her companion seemed to be mulling over something in his mind, but for Mitsuru, one look to the top of the stairs, and she scrambled to safety behind the older boy's legs.

"Remember a time when I had to be brave," she whispered fiercely.

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't let go, no matter what."

She nodded, and kept close behind him as they climbed the old wooden staircase. With each step, Mitsuru's imagination grew more vivid and frightening: Soaring creatures with crowns and tentacles, black globs with swords and masks, knights with eyes of fire and horribly sharp lances. Mitsuru recalled these creatures from her nightmares, but-

They had reached the landing at the top of the stairs.

* * *

Jesus, he should have looked harder for that ax. What was he thinking, bringing her in here? This place was a ticking time bomb, and how could he protect her if he didn't have a weapon? Shinjiro took the final step up the stairs, with Mitsuru like cellophane on the back of his leg. A corridor stretched ahead of him, with several doors laid out on each side. The third door on his left, the room which Miki had shared with two other girls, was being shut close by none other than Akihiko.

Shinjiro lowered his eyes as Mitsuru shrank behind him.

Akihiko touched the bridge of his nose as he braced an arm against the door frame, and Shinjiro saw only a trace of weariness in the lines on his face. Shinjiro noted that Aki's shirt was still stained red from the battle that had unfolded few floors ago.

"Hey," Shinjiro started brusquely, and Mitsuru began to tremble against him.

"What's happened?"

Akihiko shook his head and took a deep breath before turning away from the door.

"I don't really want to talk about it."

The child behind him was in near convulsions. Shinjiro cocked his head slightly.

"Okay. . ."

"Let's just get out of here."

Akihiko began a steady walk toward them, and with Mitsuru glued to his leg, Shinjiro did not make to follow his friend. Instead he peered into Akihiko's eyes as he approached, and only blinked thoughtfully when Akihiko brushed past him. Over his shoulder, he heard a smiling voice.

"Who's this?"

What happened next was instigated by the most innocent of gestures: Akihiko stretched his hand out to Mitsuru, as if to pat her head affectionately. As his friend reached out to the tiny girl, the air grew dense and Shinjiro felt Mitsuru silently cringe in anticipation.

Without a moment's hesitation, Shinjiro spun around and shot an arm through Akihiko's chest.

In an instant Shinjiro had it pinned to the wall, with one hand neatly sliced through the thin guise of flesh and another grasping the shadow's imitation of Akihiko's shoulder. Shinjiro promptly looked around and located Mitsuru, who stood stunned against the opposite wall. He looked back to the creature in Akihiko's skin as it began to spit black blood and flail against his hold.

Shinjiro redoubled his efforts to keep it pinned against the wall and looked back at Mitsuru again.

"Close your eyes, Mitsuru."

She drew her heavy sleeves to her eyes and cowered into a tiny white speck on the floor.

Shinjiro took a deep breath before grabbing a fistful of Akihiko's hair. With an impassioned pull, he ripped the shadow's head from its shoulders. Akihiko's body collapsed into the form of a dismembered Giga. Without its head, it struggled to stand and although weak, it still could afford to give Shinjiro one solid swing to the gut before returning to its knees. Flabbergasted but unwilling to pause for a moment's rest, Shinjiro quickly recovered and swung his leg at the Giga's nearby head. It exploded into a spray of smoke and the body fell flat against the floor before crumbling away.

That was a damn dirty trick, but not entirely unexpected. The shadow disguised as Minato was obviously just a test, a way for the shadows on this level to advance their shape-shifting abilities. Shinjiro mulled over the implications of what had just transpired as he staggered over to Mitsuru, who was peering over the smudged fabric of her sleeves.

She looked at Shinjiro with wide eyes as he sat down next to her. Without a word, she dabbed the black blood off of his hands with her ivory sleeves.

"How did you know he was a monster?" little Mitsuru murmured.

Shinjiro closed his eyes, heaving.

* * *

Akihiko gasped for air, body lurching, as he writhed to disengage himself from his place on the sofa. The comfortable living room was growing black around him, the velvet furniture radiating a sickly glow. His sister was stretching further and further away as his Mother's claws raked through his hair. Akihiko screamed as he fumbled to pry her arms away from his neck.

"Sshh," Mother whispered, her fingers growing longer and drawing blood from his scalp.

"Mi. . . ki. . ."

Akihiko started kicking when darkness began to dot his vision.

"Sleep, darling."

Her laugh echoed gleefully in his ears as her grip tightened.

"Sleep," she commanded.

His foot gave one last involuntary kick.

* * *

Shinjiro sank his teeth into his lip as he gathered Mitsuru into his arms. She responded by tugging on the collar of shirt fretfully.

"I'm strong, I can walk-"

Shinjiro was in no mood. In addition to the Giga that had most likely caused some internal bleeding, he was weaponless, directionless, and still experiencing the torrid withdrawals from his medication. Unwilling to take any more unnecessary risks, Shinjiro would have to be careful about his strategy from here on out. God, if only he'd paid attention to Mitsuru when she'd been babbling about strategies within chaotic environments-

A tiny finger poked him in the eye, causing Shinjiro to yelp and nearly drop the girl in his arms.

"Ow! What the fu. . . Jesus, kid! That hurt!"

"You weren't listening to me!" Mitsuru said angrily, crossing her arms.

"Nothing new there," he muttered.

"Put me down this instant, you're really hurt!"

"Please, shut up."

Another pointed jab, this time to his uninjured eye.

Shinjiro concentrated on inhaling and exhaling as he gently lowered Mitsuru to the ground, her arms still crossed in defiance.

"Listen to me," he said, taking her by the shoulders. "First of all, no more poking me in the eye, ok? Just because you're cute doesn't mean you can get away with that shit."

Mitsuru paused before nodding diplomatically.

"Secondly, you do not move an inch away from my sight. If you see me in trouble, you do not try to help me or intervene in any way. If I tell you to run, you run. Get it?"

She looked close to tears and Shinjiro gave her a tiny shake.

"Get it?"

"If you refuse to let me walk," Mitsuru said, puffing out her chest, "then all of your stipulations are null and void."

Shinjiro sniffed.

"Fine. Let's go."

He took her hand as he carefully stood up, and together they began a steady pace toward Miki's old room.

* * *

Minato slid around the corner and nearly cratered into the wall when he threw a quick glance over his shoulder. The Reaper was hot on his heels, but Minato had estimated he had a good twenty feet on his predator. His estimate was quickly proven wrong, as Minato caught the streak of a bullet fly next to him and puncture the wall just above his ear. He was lucky if he had fifteen feet over his pursuer, a grave miscalculation on his behalf.

He pulled his rapier into an upright position as he advanced upon the damaged wall. Minato flattened himself against the wall, and pulled his evoker out with his free hand.

The Reaper's chains overcame the sound of his own ragged panting.

_You seem nervous. I don't like nervous children._

Minato took in a steady breath, a shot of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he pushed the metal to his temple.

Ready?

Minato's head was filled with booming laughter and the sound of gunfire exploded from behind the wall, The Reaper was just around the corner.

_If you have to ask. . ._

Minato threw his elbow into the wall and knocked a few stones loose.

_Then you do not understand the weight of my name._

Minato smiled as the Reaper cleared the corner and aimed a gun at Minato's heart.

"THOR!"


	15. Chapter 15

Shinji attracted more than a few onlookers when he strutted into Wakatsu twenty minutes early for breakfast, head held high with a fat lip and a black eye. Akihiko had spotted him from his window seat and had managed to get all of the groaning and head shaking out of his system before his bludgeoned friend strutted through the entrance of the busy eatery. When Shinjiro set foot in the restaurant, only Akihiko continued to silently study the day's news while the remainder of the restaurant went silent.

"Let me guess," Akihiko remarked as Shinjiro bounced loudly into the seat across from him. "You met Penthesilea last night."

"That," Shinjiro said, his protruding bottom lip forming a pathetic smile, "and I got a nice taste of Kirijo's boot."

"I have a hunch you'll be tasting it again, if you can taste anything at all," Akihiko turned the page of his newspaper.

"She thinks I '_take issue with authority_'"

"Imagine that," Akihiko popped his neck.

Shinjiro clicked his tongue and shook his head mournfully.

"She's hopelessly in love with me and the poor girl doesn't even know it."

"I can tell. That's a hell of a shiner you've got there," Akihiko turned to his breakfast with immense concentration.

"I do love strong women," Shinjiro said with a wistful sigh.

Akihiko shook his head in disbelief as a waitress approached Shinjiro for his order.

"Coffee, please. Black."

"What are you doing?" Akihiko asked blandly.

"Ordering breakfast," Shinjiro tapped his fingers against the table's surface, "and pissing you off, by the looks of it."

Akihiko sat back in his seat and looked at the remains of his meal defiantly as Shinjiro's obnoxiously gentle gaze broke into his peripheral vision.

"How far's this little game of yours going to go, Aki?"

"She came to me, not the other way around," Akihiko idly scratched his shoulder, unable to refuse eye contact any longer.

Shinjiro raised his shoulders and put his hands on the table.

"If you had known S.E.E.S. existed, do you honestly expect me to believe you wouldn't have sought her out and demanded to join?"

"I don't expect you to believe _anything_, Shinji," Akihiko quipped, removing his gloves while the waitress deposited two cups of coffee on the table. "It's just another extra curricular activity to keep me improving."

Shinjiro's gaze did not harden at the tone of Akihiko's voice.

"Aki."

Akihiko cocked his head and watched the soft trepidation cross over Shinjiro's battered face. Akihiko frowned. The last time he'd seen Shinji look so damaged was after a middle school brawl, one instigated at the behest of Akihiko himself. He hadn't meant jump into the fray, and looking back, it was actually sort of embarrassing. A nervous boy who sat next to Shinjiro in home room had been the favored target of a group of aspiring bullies for quite some time. Things reached a boiling point when the fidgety pupil unintentionally walked head on into one of the aspiring hooligans. Naturally, the young men thought the collision was intentional and began ruthlessly pummeling the unsuspecting boy. Akihiko jumped into the fray almost before he knew who was on the receiving end, with Shinjiro fast on Akihiko's heels. The boy who had taken such offense at the clumsiness of his classmate took the lion's share of the injuries, with Shinjiro coming in a close second. Looking back, it was difficult to remember why he had lunged at the sound of violence. Specifically, Akihiko could not recall if it was the urgency of aiding a vulnerable person or if the sounds of fists had whet the appetite for the fight. Regardless, when Akihiko jumped, it never took long for Shinjiro to follow.

"This isn't a case of what doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"Actually, that's exactly what this is."

"Okay," Shinjiro replied amicably. "What happens when a shadow snaps your leg in half? Or blasts your jaw off your face?"

Akihiko seemed unfazed.

"Comic book heroes have alter egos," Shinjiro continued, mindlessly stirring his coffee, "they have methods of damage control, and typically, they're difficult to kill. You're a kid from Gekkoukan with a collection of boxing titles and a few good knocks away from a career ending concussion. What's going to happen when you take a bad hit from a monster before a match?"

"_If,_" corrected Akihiko.

"When," Shinjiro reiterated.

"Stop lecturing me."

"I'm not trying to be your mother."

"So stop mothering. No one asked you to join."

"I'm just sort of wondering where this mindless quest for power is taking you."

"Strength, not power," if Akihiko could have slammed his newspaper shut, he would have. Instead he folded it along an awkward crease until it was half its original size. "I'm going exactly where I want to go."

"Is it where Miki would want you to go?"

Shinjiro's temerity struck a nerve with Akihiko, and the latter had exhausted his ability to conceal his aggravation.

"You're putting me in a sour mood pretty quickly, Shinji."

"Okay, fair enough. Just," Shinjiro reached into his pocket, "do me a favor and keep that question close to your heart when you're out there, Superman. It might save you from doing something really, really asinine in the future."

Shinjiro smacked his lips as he threw a wad of crumpled bills on the table and left, his coffee untouched.

Akihiko squinted.

Underneath Shinjiro's money, a yellowed slip of paper caught Akihiko's eye. He looked out of the window as a quiet breeze picked up a few leaves around the bus station where Shinji was studying a schedule. Akihiko looked back the paper and took a drink from his mug as he reached over and removed the slip.

_Take care of each other_

It took him half a second to recognize Sotō-san's handwriting. With a snort, Akihiko choked down the rest of his coffee and stormed out of Wakatsu.

* * *

"Shinji!"

Akihiko caught Shinjirio mid eye-roll as he marched up to his friend at the train station.

"That's it? You're moving into the dorm, right?"

"Don't be so sure," Shinjiro looked back to the posted schedule.

"What? What about last night? I mean. . . did it really go that badly?" Akihiko pressed.

Shinjiro snorted.

"She clearly doesn't trust me, and I don't think I'll be diving in front of any buses for her, either."

"Did she say that? Did she actually reject you?"

The arrival of the train muffled Akihiko's rapid fire questioning. Shinjiro gave Akihiko a smug smile and without another word, boarded the train and faced Akihiko with a resigned stare.

"She told me she had to think about it, and let's be honest, when a woman says that, it's a dignified 'fuck off'"

Akihiko stepped up to the door of the train, but did not get on.

"Mitsuru's different."

He immediately cringed at the sheer optimism in his own voice and Akihiko expected a swift and stinging rebuttal from Shinjiro, perhaps a retort laced with accusations of naivete and gullibility of a hormonal teenage boy. Instead, Shinjiro smiled, the same damn smug smile, with his good eye placidly peeking at Akihiko. The door swung closed but before the train pulled away, Shinjiro fogged the glass with his breath and traced a question mark onto the window.

Akihiko squinted through the haze of the early morning as the train grew small and eventually disappeared. He chewed the insides of his mouth and glanced at his wristwatch. If he left now, he could get to Gekkoukan before the first bell rang.

* * *

Outside, behind the auditorium of Gekkoukan High, an anxious young man tapped his foot against the pavement. His eyes remained sharp on an empty parking spot, perfectly sized for a motorcycle. He had a sneaking suspicion she parked back here, and by the looks of it, she was the only one who knew about this space. Who was he kidding? The Kirijo Group probably had the lines of the parking space custom painted just for her. He wondered briefly what happened to those unfortunate motorists that happened upon this little gem.

The low roar of an engine approaching caused Akihiko to abandon his leaning posture and stand up straight. As she came to a stop, she took a moment to acknowledge Akihiko through the shaded visor of her helmet. She removed it as she swung her leg over her motorcycle and nodded to Akihiko.

"Sanada-san," Mitsuru said cordially.

"Hey. Uh. . . Nice bike," he said lamely.

"Thank you," she looked at the jacket Akihiko held slung over his back with the slight tilt of her head.

"Aren't you cold?"

Akihiko shook his head as he approached her.

"Do you have a minute? There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"You're here to discuss Aragaki-san's performance last night," she said as she began to pick at the fingertips of her gloves.

Akihiko nodded, suddenly dreading hearing the details of Shinjiro's undoubtedly eventful first encounter with Mitsuru.

"I know it's not really any of my business but-"

Mitsuru locked the handlebars on her motorcycle and put her helmet to rest on the seat.

"Aragaki-san spent the majority of the training enlightening me with his exhaustive vocabulary of vulgarities and profanities. While he had little trouble overcoming his inhibitions in summoning his persona, he struggled immensely with tactical thought and strategic planning," Mitsuru remarked lightly, making her way to a nearby door. Akihiko walked beside her, struggling to keep up with her words.

"His melee attacks are slow, unrefined, and extremely easy to counter. I won't bore you with my dossier of his persona, though in short, Castor's elemental and healing capabilities are rudimentary at best, and quite frankly," Mitsuru eyed Akihiko attentively. "Aragaki-san's attitude does nothing to diminish any of those attributes," she said delicately.

Akihiko dropped his shoulders and Mitsuru averted her eyes away from his disappointed expression.

"I admire your willingness to fight for his potential, Sanada-san," she continued appreciatively. "However, I'm afraid Aragaki-san's fortitude alone is not justification for a place with S.E.E.S. Please, excuse me," Mitsuru reached for the door.

Whether out of stupidity or desperation, Akihiko wasn't sure, but when he reached across the door and barred Mitsuru from entering with his arm, he realized it was the bravest thing he had done in recent history, including shooting himself in the head.

Mitsuru glanced at his extended arm with a deadpan stare. She didn't meet his eyes directly, but clearly, if Akihiko did not explain himself quickly and concisely, he would be a dead man in a matter of seconds.

"Look," he took a deep breath, "I know he's a pain in the ass, but there's something you have to know about Shinji. When we were growing up together at the orphanage, I was the one always getting in trouble for fighting. Shinji keeps to himself, he didn't like to fight then and he doesn't care for it now, but whenever me or my sister were in trouble, he was there to back us up. He wouldn't think twice about taking a shot to the heart for me, and I know he'd do the same for you."

Mitsuru, understandably, looked doubtful.

Akihiko inhaled another nervous gulp of air.

"Just because he won't admit that doesn't mean he wouldn't do it. I know he's got this untouchable exterior, believe me, it's annoying. After all these years, though, I know that ridiculous wall of his isn't as thick as it seems."

The first bell rang.

Akihiko rolled his eyes at the interruption and permitted Mitsuru a moment away from his intense gaze. Akihiko caught a foreign sheen veil her eyes for half a second before she blinked. The space between them was filled with silence, while in the background the loud chirping of students filing into the school urged Akihiko to conclude.

"I know none of that makes sense-"

"This is not a decision open to public discourse, Sanada-san," Mitsuru said, eyes stony and reserved again.

Akihiko did not retract his arm, despite feeling close to crossing the line.

"However," Mitsuru continued sternly. "Despite his numerable faults, I do believe the deck is stacked in Aragaki-san's favor. If he's truly willing to commit himself to this team, then I cannot in good conscience turn him away."

Akihiko found himself unable to respond, stunned at Mitsuru's words and the odd sentiment once again forming in her eyes. Mitsuru did not smile, but her voice grew soft as she stood completely erect.

"I'd like to see what the three of us can accomplish together, Akihiko,"

"You won't regret it," Akhiko gushed, hardly noticing as Mitsuru gently pushed his arm down.

"You may inform Aragaki-san that he can move into the Iwatodai Dormitory as soon as possible. We'll set out a plan once he's settled. Now, if you'll excuse me, I really must be on my way."

Akihiko immediately flattened himself against the wall as she slipped past him, and it was a while before he realized he was breathing again.

* * *

Shinjiro kicked the door to Miki's room open just in time to see The Elegant Mother toss Akihiko's lifeless body to the ground. With a furious shout Shinjiro sprinted toward her as her cackles bounced off of the empty black walls.

As he neared, the shadow slowed Shinjiro's advance down with a sharp Zionga spell. Shinjiro stumbled as he recovered, and The Elegant Mother capitalized on his sluggishness by blasting him in the face with her foot. Shinjiro tumbled away, his hand to his face as he spat out a mouthful of blood.

The Elegant Mother beckoned him back with a sly laugh.

Shinjiro licked his lips before pushing himself off the ground. He ran at her again, this time stopping sharply as she shot a leg at his head. Shinjiro ducked and the force of the shadow's jab caught her off balance. The Elegant Mother flipped over, screeching in outrage as Shinjiro grabbed Akihiko's collar and dragged him away.

Mitsuru, who had remained obediently frozen, looked as though she were barely containing her terror as Shinjiro pulled Akihiko's body to her.

"Is he-"

"Stay with him."

Shinjiro wiped the blood from his mouth, watching The Elegant Mother as she recovered and aimed another Zionga spell at him. He peeled away from Mitsuru before the shadow attacked, making a good twenty feet away before the electricity surged through his body. Shinjiro collapsed, his ribs still aching from the Giga's attack. The Elegant Mother sped into him before he could move, and as she advanced she threw her foot directly under his chin.

Mitsuru screamed as Shinjiro was pinned to the wall. The remainder of the blood in his mouth came spitting out as she pushed against his throat, humming in pleasure. He choked as she planted the foot of her sofa on his kneecap, and just when Shinjiro thought the shadow was going to deliver her fatal blow, she snapped her fingers.

A wave of fire exploded from her fingertips. If Mitsuru had not dropped to the ground, the blast would have turned her to ashes. Shinjiro snarled as he took hold of the shadow's foot and began to twist. His eyes burned on the shadow as she screamed in pain, and with a fair amount of turning on the shadow's appendage, Shinjiro had enough leverage over The Elegant Mother to bring her toppling to the ground. Freed from The Elegant Mother's grasp, Shinjiro jumped away from the wall and sprinted toward Mitsuru who was sprawled out on all fours beside Akihiko.

Before he made it to Mitsuru, Shinjiro heard the melancholy sigh of a monster and turned to see The Elegant Mother slap her palm against the ground.

Akihiko opened his eyes, but Shinjiro immediately recognized his friend was not yet awake. Without waiting to see what Akihiko was capable of under the shadow's puppetry, Shinjiro pounced on Akihiko as he began to sit up. He had expected Akihiko to throw a few punches his away, but was unprepared for a full on brawl. The second Shinjiro made contact with him, Akihiko seized Shinjiro and rolled him to the ground. Behind them, the shadow emitted a scathing laugh.

Shinjiro gagged as Akihiko's hands circled around his neck.

"I won't let you hold me back this time!" Akihiko hissed, his fingertips deftly pushing into Shinjiro's thorat. "I won't let her die this time!"

"Mitsuru," Shinjiro gurgled, "get _out_ of here!"

She remained rooted to the ground.

Shinjiro swung his arm and clipped Akihiko's chin before repeating himself.

"RUN!"

Akihiko whipped around as Mitsuru scrambled up from her knees and stumbled toward the door. The Elegant Mother chortled in amusement and hit the floor with her palm again. Akihiko wiped his cheek as he stood up and began a dangerous advance toward Mitsuru.

"I won't let that happen again," he said, watching as Mitsuru tripped over the clinging hem of her kimono. Shinjiro heard the emotion in his voice and swore to sever each limb and bash that shadow's head into the ground until she suffered her last breath. Until then, immobilizing Akihiko was cornerstone to providing for Mitsuru's escape.

"Oh, no you don't!"

Akihiko's charged steps toward tiny Mitsuru were cut short as Shinjiro tackled him from behind. For the moment, Shinjiro had the young fighter pinned, but being well acquainted with Akihiko when he wasn't quite himself, Shinjiro turned to Mitsuru.

"God damn it, I said RUN!"

Mitsuru pulled herself up from the floor, tears streaming down her face, and fled the room without looking back.

* * *

Thor swept through the wall as though it were a mere veil. Minato shielded his head as he dashed through the cascading facade. As he sped after his persona, he couldn't help but marvel at the speed of his pursuer. He'd been hunted by The Reaper before, but those chases never felt like a matter of life and death. Rather, Minato relished in these encounters for they were truly the only real battles he found within Tartarus' walls, for the true form of his skill and luck took shape in these rare and terrifying occasions. If ever there was a shadow too strong or night too long, it could always be won over with time. Endurance could be stretched, enemy tactics could be recognized and matched, but with the Reaper, there was no true way to win.

There was only fight or flight and within them the true colors of Minato's abilities.

A bullet flew into his shoulder with the precision of a scalpel.

Despite the pain, Minato did not slow his stride because Parvati could patch him up later. In fact, if it hadn't been for the scattered bricks at his feet, Minato would have made it to floor one of Cocytus even with a chunk of lead in his back. Instead, he tripped over the remnants of Junpei and Thor's joint destruction and landed face first onto the ground. His recovery would find him dead, he was certain, and when Minato put his palms on the floor to push himself up, his eyes met a pair of blue suede boots.

He looked up at her through his messy bangs and noticed that she held the compendium in one hand and a single card in the other.

"Exactly," Elizabeth queried, her smiling voice the slightest bit prickly, "whose company are you keeping these days?"

"Elizabeth, look out-"

The Reaper had given Elizabeth the courtesy of a pause before he fired his gun, and just as he did so Minato snapped his arm out to Elizabeth's ankle. His hand snatched at air as Elizabeth recovered backward, her chest folded slightly in. Minato staggered to his feet and went to aid Elizabeth when he stopped dead.

True, she had stumbled, but Elizabeth's surprise was the extent of her injury. Minato gaped as he saw a bullet slightly indenting the flesh over her heart. She returned to her previous impeccable posture, and with a flick of annoyance, removed the bullet in her breast.

Minato made a loud gulp.

She seemed unperturbed, to say the least, with her wild and curious eyes transfixed on The Reaper. Without another word, Elizabeth slipped the card in her hand back into the compendium and quickly sought out another. By all appearances, she seemed to have completely wiped Minato from her radar, but of course, Minato deemed these fleeting thoughts foolish and resigned himself to a later fate.

Elizabeth pirhouetted around the The Reaper's guns, her oddly titled smile still plastered to her lips.

The chains draped along the Reaper's arms and legs shook and sang as he conjured a black storm around himself and Elizabeth, and soon the two formidable opponents were swept into a cyclone of darkness, their standoff to be a clandestine and bloody affair. Just as Minato had suspected, Elizabeth would be unable or unwilling to forfeit an encounter with Death.

For a sharp moment, Minato felt inclined to leap into the fray, but the voice of Thor, far be it from the voice of reason, reeled him back into his original purpose.

_I was told that there would be no chivalry._

Minato swallowed and then nodded, and without another word, darted away from the battle and into the depths of Cocytus.

* * *

Mitsuru flew down the stairs, the endless rivulets of tears blinding her vision. What could she have done differently? How could she have helped? Why did the older boy, the one who was helping her, suddenly turn and attack the other boy in the room? The more time she spent here in this big and strange house the more questions she had. How did that boy know her? Before in the hallway when the monster had attacked them and just now he had called her by her name, but she never introduced herself. How did he know her?

"Remember a time where I had to be brave," she whimpered as she arrived at the bottom of the stairs. Mitsuru sucked in a breath of air as her lip trembled. Where was she supposed to go? Outside into the night? She'd been instructed to run, but the boy had not told her where to go. The fear biting her blood directed her to leave the way she entered this place. Mitsuru swept around the stairs and hurried toward the passageway, through the kitchen-

She stopped.

Then, the very small Mitsuru took a long look at the basket of apples near the sink.

* * *

In the blink of an eye, a shadow had threatened everything Mitsuru held dear. She was so weak, so small, so unimportant, but even with those feelings buried deep in her heart, she had thrown herself between her father and a pawn of her grandfather's madness. She had come to in her father's arms, and after ensuring that she had succeeded in thwarting an attempt on his life, fell back into sweet unconsciousness.

Mitsuru rubbed her eyes and sighed, curling back up into the source of warmth at her side. She was traveling, no, ascending in the safe and secure arms of someone strong.

"Sir, please, I'm sure you are feeling quite exhausted. Let us call one of the attendants to put her to bed," the voice came from behind them. Her transport abruptly stopped and Mitsuru felt a thick tension drop over the room.

"S-sir," the same voice spoke again. "Please, forgive my insolence."

"Hmm," his voice vibrated against her cheek.

Together they continued up the stairs and Mitsuru opened her eyes as they reached the hallway that led to her room. She remained quiet in her father's arms as he carried her to her room, and as he placed her under the covers, Mitsuru gently put her arms around his neck and hugged him.

"I love you, father."

He sighed and sat down at her side.

"I love you, my Mitsuru," he took her by the shoulders and set her back onto her pillow and pulled the covers up to her chin.

"Will you tell me the story about how you and mommy met, please?" Mitsuru asked through drooping eyelids.

A rising moon filled the room with a pale white glow, and her father's face was bathed in a strange cold light. He chuckled and she could hear the weariness in his voice.

"No, Mitsuru," he said gently as he quietly tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You've been through a lot tonight and you need to rest," the blankets on her bed shifted slightly as her father reached across to the table beside her bed and wound the gears of a paper carousel. Mitsuru yawned as the illuminated shapes of horses danced across her room.

"Father?" Mitsuru murmured, falling fast asleep.

"Sshh, Mitsuru."

". . . I'll protect you, father."

Mitsuru felt his hand sweep across her forehead and fell into a deep slumber after she felt his kiss touch her forehead.

In her dreams, she wore a white kimono, the same kimono that she had donned at her mother's funeral. She was lost in maze and there were monsters after her, but in that maze she met a nameless and shapeless guardian.

* * *

She remembered.

Mitsuru blinked, a single tear slipping past her cheek.

She _remembered _the night when her father's life had been in jeopardy, the night her persona had manifested, the night he carried her to her room and stayed with her until she fell asleep. The same night she first began to dream of walking a maze while wearing the same kimono she had worn at her mother's funeral. In that dream, in that maze, she met a nameless and shapeless guardian who Mitsuru later knew as Penthesilea.

Mitsuru swallowed the knot in her throat, her eyes becoming dry as she stared at the apples. Mitsuru examined her hands, and saw long fingers covered in the soft callouses earned from a variety of fencing swords. Mitsuru looked down at pure shade of her kimono, and while the snow white sleeves still fell elegantly from her hands, she discovered the pattern of her attire to be fit for the form of a young woman and not a child in mourning.

It was the night that the apple she held in her palm froze into a block of ice, a moment so gilded in fear and wonder, that it became embedded into a night which would become notorious in Mitsuru's mind as the night where her purpose for living became clear.

With a frown, Mitsuru suddenly remembered the two young men upstairs and the shadow's games. Her lips and fingers were still stubbornly trembling, but without another moment's delay, Mitsuru began a wild search through the doors and drawers in the kitchen.

She creased her eyebrows, the last of her fearful exhales leaving her as she found a long knife and spun back around to the stairs.

* * *

Shinjiro's head flopped to the ground as Akihiko landed another bruising strike to his cheekbone. Akihiko had him in one of his expert pins and in a matter of minutes, Shinjiro was bloodied and bashed to a pulp by his childhood friend.

Another strike, this time directed to Shinjiro's sternum.

"You can't stop me!"

Akihiko's eyes shone with hot rage, and across the room The Elegant Mother sighed with boredom.

Shinjiro rasped, his body wracked with involuntary gasps. All Akihiko had to to do was pop him in the right spot, and Shinjiro's lungs would be punctured by a broken rib. As black spots began to seep into the corner of his eyes, Shinjiro reflected on his imminent demise with a sneer. Judging by the vengeful hate emanating from Akihiko's swings, it was clear Akihiko would not be snapping out of the role of puppet on his own. If Shinjiro could manage to get to the shadow and collect her miserable head he might be able to shatter this illusion.

He knew that wouldn't happen.

Shinjiro calmly watched Akihiko wind his arm back, the kiss of death clearly written on his knuckles. Maybe this was a good end for him, after all, he had just sent a small and helpless child into the proverbial lion's den. If that didn't deserve a poetic conclusion, Shinjiro wasn't sure what did.

A piercing cry of outrage caused Shinjiro to jerk his head to The Elegant Mother. Shinjiro heard a surprised grunt and promptly observed Akihiko being roughly shoved onto the floor beside him. He gasped in relief, free from the weight of his attacker.

Above him, the soaring white sleeves of a kimono touched his skin. Once the movement settled and the fabric ceased its flying, the stern and concerned eyes of eighteen year old Mitsuru bore down on him.

"Boy," Shinjiro smiled a bloody grin, "am I glad to see you."


	16. Chapter 16

Without stooping, Minato slowly extended his hand to Mitsuru, who appeared to still be experiencing the shock from the electric swing of a now defeated Giga. When she gently accepted the Junior's assistance and stood up, Shinjiro couldn't help but make a few key observations. First, the profound look of listlessness in Minato's eyes had sharpened into a distinct expression of concern, one marked specifically for Mitsuru. The markedly taciturn demeanor which Akihiko took on in light of the first observation constituted Shinjiro's second notice. Apparently, Shinjiro wasn't the only one taking notice of their new leader's growing closeness to the team's empress.

"All right, senpai?" Minato asked evenly.

Mitsuru offered Minato a weary thanks as she left his hold and dusted off her sleeve.

Shinjiro chewed on his lip thoughtfully.

Third, and perhaps most importantly, Mitsuru had not snapped at their esteemed leader with a command to 'unhand' her or charged him with treating her like a wounded child upon assisting her. To be fair, she had ceased giving both Akihiko and Shinjiro such lip long ago, after scraping each other from crusty sidewalks and slick pavement had become so intrinsic to their everyday life. It was perplexing to Shinjiro, then, that Minato should be so soon welcomed into that same fold after such a short period in his leadership role.

"Hey," Shinjiro addressed Minato with his comment, mostly to test the vivacity of Mitsuru's pride. "She's getting sloppy. Time to move out before one of us gets killed."

Mitsuru, well-versed in the ways of picking and choosing battles with her thorny teammate, responded archly.

"We should only leave if we devolve to childish finger pointing."

Shinjiro flipped the head of his ax over his shoulder as if it were a baton, happy enough with the force of her reply.

Minato, still appearing blissfully unaware of Akihiko's heavy brooding, spoke to Mitsuru as if Shinjiro's barb had never been uttered.

"I would have been suspicious if anyone except for the Panzer tank over there had withstood a hit from a shadow that strong."

Shinjiro met Minato's eyes and saw a gentle sparkle instead of the typical dullness. Minato shook slightly with laughter as he pointed the tip of his evoker to his head and pulled the trigger. Parvati danced before him, and within seconds Shinjiro's body was tingling with a revitalized feeling.

"Cute," Shinjiro replied, unable to keep the smile out of his voice. "An Iori original?"

"He was obviously too terrified to ever mention it to your face," Minato shrugged as a cheeky smile touched his lips.

"Good thing you're not afraid to say it for him."

"_Au contraire_, senpai. I'm going to give Junpei-kun _all_ the credit for that little nickname."

"We're wasting time," Akihiko interrupted, disgruntled.

Mitsuru flexed her sword arm and nodded to Minato.

"Yes. Let's move on."

Shinjiro soon found himself lagging behind with Minato while Mitsuru and Akihiko spoke lowly amongst themselves ahead. It was such a foreign thing to see the two of them conversing so privately, that both he and the mopey-eyed underclassman implicitly agreed to keep back a few spaces.

"Senpai was ready to spit fire back there," Minato offered quietly as he pushed the fringe out of his face.

"Gotta keep her honest somehow," Shinjiro remarked.

"I was actually referring to Akihiko-senpai," Minato accepted Shinjiro's momentarily astonished expression with a slight nod. "You noticed it too, huh?"

"Don't take it personally," Shinjiro advised. "He gets riled up at a pin drop."

"Maybe. You know him better than me, but I've been on the receiving end of some pretty sour looks since Yakushima."

"Lose a beach side competition, did he? He'll get over it."

"Worse, I think he overheard my appreciation of Mitsuru's swimsuit."

He looked over and noticed Minato's cheeks stained red. With a pained exhale, Shinjiro gave this new evidence fair consideration before answering.

"I'd say Aki's the least of of your problems. Did Kirijo hear it?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?"

Akihiko and Mitsuru turned at the sound of Shinjiro's hearty laugh. After a moment, they dismissed the banter between Minato and Shinjiro and resumed their own hushed dialogue. Minato took their divided conversations as an opportunity to split up. He and Shinjiro took a passage on the left while Akihiko and Mitsuru disappeared quietly down a hallway on the right.

"You know," Minato continued as he kicked open a suitcase containing a few hundred yen. "I wouldn't hesitate to back off if I were made aware of any pre-existing circumstances."

"You need to be _made aware_ of them? You can't be that thick or we wouldn't be talking about this."

"Guilty," said Minato airily, "but you can't really blame me. I just want to know if I can expect anything in addition to the occasional cold stare if I start talking Dostoevsky to Mitsuru-senpai over espresso."

"I would expect him to take his feelings to a punching bag as I doubt he's learned any other way of emoting."

"Not really the answer I'm looking for."

"Oh, _child_. I'd be delighted to profess Aki's attachment to Mitsuru, but I have a feeling you'd rather hear it from him. So would I, honestly," Shinjiro shrugged at Minato's quiet smile. "It's clear neither of them has budged, even with me being out of their hair."

"And you?"

"And me, Arisato?"

"What can I expect from you, if I ever get the balls?"

"Well, they're _your _balls in the end. Don't expect any jealous inclinations from me. That being said, I'm convinced no one deserves her."

Minato knew enough about Shinjiro to understand his response warranted the most reverent of silences.

"You're starting to scare me," Minato murmured at length.

"When I came on, I thought this whole arcana thing was a load of bullshit. I still do, but Mitsuru Kirijo is an empress, through and through. Between you and I, I couldn't stomach seeing her with anyone less worthy than-"

"Than an emperor?" Minato offered mischievously.

"Polydeuces is the emperor," Shinjiro corrected gravely. "Aki is just a little kid."

"Well, I think-"

"Minato-kun?"

They both stopped in their tracks, Minato's eyes wandering to the floor.

"Go ahead, Fuuka-chan."

"It's getting late," she said nervously. "Maybe we should regroup?"

"Yeah," Minato spoke through a yawn. "We'll look for a portal on the next floor."

* * *

This mess could have been avoided if he'd just popped Traesto immediately after Fuuka had issued her warning.

Minato's knees gave out from under him after flying up yet another staircase of Cocytus. Four floors, and absolutely nothing - no shadows, no loot, no senpai - not a thing but hollow passages with a sick blue glow and cold black stone.

His uniform was wet with blood at the shoulder, but considering the proximity at which this injury was obtained, the bullet in Minato's shoulder was a joke. With a few haggard gasps, Minato summoned Parvati with the deafening fire of his evoker.

_Your heart. . ._

Minato groaned as he mustered the strength to sit up and worm his arm out of his uniform. After examining the results of Parvati's magic, Minato discarded his stained outer jacket and hauled himself off of the floor. The bite of steel was deep in his flesh, but Minato thought it frivolous compared to the horrors his friends were most likely suffering at this moment. For this reason, he kept Parvati's talents aside and resumed his climb of Cocytus, still bewildered by the lack of obstacles in his path.

He thundered up the stairs, his immediate thoughts speeding over Elizabeth and his senpai trapped in this tower. His jarred thoughts had him in a tailspin, and had he been of his usual clear mind, Minato might have found Parvati's unfinished mantra suspicious.

* * *

Shinjiro had scarcely bubbled out his greeting to Mitsuru when she glided down and and deposited a foul tasting marble into his mouth. He swallowed it, but not without stringing together a few colorful words for Mitsuru as she pulled him to his feet. He looked to Akihiko, who was laboring to pull himself together for another attack.

"Nice kimono," Shinjiro condescended numbly, Akihiko an unnerving object in the corner of his eye.

"Are you all right?" Mitsuru asked sternly.

"Yeah, thanks to you."

"I'll take the shadow," Mitsuru brandished a long knife, causing Shinjiro's eyes to pop.

Mitsuru glanced at Akihiko, and Shinjiro grinned as he followed her gaze.

"Leave the tough guy to me."

Mitsuru set off toward the heckling Mother, narrowly slipping by Akihiko as he came barreling in toward Shinjiro. His injuries healed, Shinjiro easily stepped out of Akihiko's path before ensnaring the rage-blinded boy into an armlock.

"Hands," Shinjiro called out lightly as he twisted Akihiko's arms into a pretzel.

Mitsuru pivoted around, eyes ablaze with a fierce calm.

"Cut off the bitch's hands."

It would have also been prudent to remind Mitsuru that The Elegant Mother had previously engaged Agilao, apparently able to detect the weaknesses of her enemy. If Mitsuru heeded Shinjiro's advice, and quickly, she wouldn't have to find out. Shinjiro caught the glint of the knife as Mitsuru deliberately placed herself between The Elegant Mother and the two young men and sped off with soaring grace. With Akihiko quickly becoming an unmanageable ball of energy in his arms, Shinjiro wagered his chances of keeping his brawling buddy distracted were good as long as the The Elegant Mother's deadly tricks were put to a timely end.

Shinjiro's moment of distraction was put to an end with a crunch as Akihiko swung his head back and broke into Shinjiro's nose. Shinjiro reeled but held fast as he hit the ground with a choke, his arms still locked stubbornly under Akihiko's. This little hold was only going to last so long, and when it ended Akihiko was sure to make short work of Mitsuru's generous healing bead.

* * *

Mitsuru swung under The Elegant Mother's outstretched foot as it flailed toward her. The shadow sighed, and with a bitter cry, Mitsuru blasted into The Elegant Mother's seat with her shoulder. The shadow toppled, hands outstretched-

Mitsuru dove after her, latched on to The Elegant Mother's neck, and carved into the shadow's left hand. The offending appendage vanished into a puff of smoke, and The Elegant Mother's screeches surrounded Mitsuru as she was thrown into the air. She hit the ground, and immediately, a sharp pain exploded on the right half of her body.

The throaty gasps of the shadow rose angrily as the shadow recovered. Mitsuru lifted her head as The Elegant Mother, barely upright and pitifully dragging herself with one arm, drew closer. Mitsuru fell back to the ground, eyes closed.

The rasping monster neared, and in moments The Elegant Mother was looming over her, her hand drawing closer to Mitsuru's temple. Mitsuru pulled the knife out from behind her back before her enemy could fall back. In seconds, Mitsuru had lopped off the shadow's remaining hand. Once again, the screams of the disfigured creature drowned out Mitsuru's own cries of pain as she swung up from the ground and plunged the knife into the back of the maimed shadow's neck.

The dying Mother fell forward and would have crushed Mitsuru had the wounded girl not rolled at the last moment. Across the room, Shinjiro was on his feet wobbling, Akihiko dangling over his shoulder. Mitsuru pushed herself up on her elbow, fully expecting to see The Elegant Mother bloom into a shroud of ash-

"_GET DOWN!_"

The Elegant Mother bellowed her last scream, and a torrent of fire exploded from her mouth.

Mitsuru took cover and rolled away, agony striking her every nerve. Through the firestorm, she made out Shinjiro's silhouette as he shuffled for the exit. The sickening stench of burning wood sent Mitsuru's head spinning as she stumbled to regain her footing and find her way out. Mitsuru looked again, trying to find a black hole, even the slightest shape of an exit to work toward. Orange streaks filled her vision, so that even the illusion of an exit could not be seen and after a few meager steps Mitsuru succumbed to a fit of coughing from the smoke thickening her lungs. She dropped to her knees, fighting in vain against the constricting fabric of her kimono. The memory of her mother's body being devoured by flames played vividly in her mind and she could think of nothing else.

The spitting tendrils of fire swung in around her and soon she was walled in by flame, destined to be burned alive.

A pair of hands found her shoulders, and with a sharp heave, Mitsuru was pulled up from the ground. The hands secured her arm around sturdy shoulders, held her firm at her waist, and guided her through the haze and fire. She closed her eyes for a moment and opened them to Akihiko's taut screams.

"You _left _her in there, you unbelievable son of a bitch!"

"She was conscious, you weren't. Who do _you _think had a better chance of walking out?"

"_Fire _is her weakness, Shinji-"

"I had to backhand you twice before you woke up. If I had gotten her out, you'd have suffocated in your sleep by now-"

They were in the hallway, the fire would spread here soon.

"Enough!" Mitsuru coughed, her eyes clouded by involuntary tears. "We have to get out of here!"

"The shadow's dead," Akihiko shouted back at her. "It's over."

"We're still surrounded by fire and in your childhood home," Mitsuru insisted. "It's not going to end until this entire level comes down!"

Akihiko clearly still had words for Shinjiro. However, instead of arguing further, Akihiko and Shinjiro settled on sharing a fervent glare before they shouldered Mitsuru between them and made for the end of the hallway.

"These are the only stairs," Shinjiro cursed. "The last thing we want to do is go back."

"The storage closet," Akihiko said, shaking his head. "There's a trap door to the attic in the storage closet, remember?"

* * *

Shinjiro kicked the door in, not bothering to try the handle. They crammed into the tiny cupboard and fumbled blindly for the chord. Akihiko found it at last, and with a swift jerk, a dusty set of stairs came clattering down. They shuffled up, one by one, and when Shinjiro's foot left the final step, the stairs crumbled away.

Inside the attic, they sat in pitch black, the sound of shifting foundations and heavy breathing thickening the air around them.

Finally, Shinjiro whispered what they were each thinking:

"What next?"

The floor split open.

This time, they clung to one another as they fell.

* * *

Minato looked lifelessly at the soft material in his hands.

He'd cleared fifteen floors. Fifteen floors of black and blue, and all Minato had found was a plain colored beanie belonging to Shinjiro. No time to panic now, there was still a chance for one more level here. So far, S.E.E.S had discovered that each block in Tartarus was comprised of fifteen to sixteen floors. With his heart hammering in his chest and his knuckles white from grasping Shinjiro's hat, Minato raced through the emptied floor.

Minato turned a corner and swallowed. A staircase was laid out before him, they had to be on the next level.

_Your heart, _Parvati warned-

The sound of petite footsteps clapped against Minato's ears.

"Shit," he breathed.

Elizabeth stopped halfway down the stairs, her sweet smile shining at him triumphantly.

"Your move, Arisato-san."


	17. Chapter 17

Mitsuru woke with a start.

The damage she had sustained during her duel with The Elegant Mother fell down on her at once, and in an attempt to move herself into a more comfortable position, Mitsuru turned over.

She checked her movement immediately when her hand slipped over an edge.

A twenty foot fall separated her and another platform, currently inhabited by none other than Shinjiro Aragaki, who was studying her intently. Below Shinjiro's platform and on all sides, Mitsuru was consumed by an endless sea of green fog, broken clocks, and severed stairs. All of the discombobulated objects of Tartarus were silently adrift around them. The only anchors present were herself, Shinjiro, and the foundations on which they stood.

"Watch your step," Shinjiro said laconically.

Mitsuru gasped and rolled on to her back, hands pressed against her injured ribs, as she ardently attempted to recover from the sudden vertigo. At length, Mitsuru opened her eyes and found the platform she rested against to be smaller than Shinjiro's, but in all other aspects, just as sturdy. Feeling slightly more prepared to handle her surroundings, Mitsuru cautiously went back on her stomach and peered over the edge.

Shinjiro was still looking up at her.

"Akihiko-" Mitsuru began.

He gestured behind him.

"There's another platform about fifteen feet below me. He's there, he's alive."

Mitsuru closed her eyes in relief.

"I could hear you breathing from down here. Sounds like a couple of broken ribs."

"I'm fine," Mitsuru said coarsely, surveying the expanse around their strange oases.

"Yeah," Shinjiro said, temporarily moving his gaze to the hazy atmosphere hanging behind her shoulder.

Purgatory, Mitsuru thought. There could be no other name for it. Clearly, they had returned to Tartarus' familiar shades of broken time and space, but this was far from familiar territory. They had reached an end, but instead of finding a beginning or a feedback loop, the weary trio found themselves in a pocket of emptiness.

"Hey," Shinjiro said suddenly. Mitsuru looked down at him, her eyes large as a devastating epiphany washed over her. They could be here forever, there was no way for anyone to find them. Even Yamagishi's persona needed lines and structure to navigate. Without such constructs, there was no hope of escape-

"Jesus, you know I don't do apologies," Shinjiro seemed to be struggling for words. For a moment, he looked down at his feet, and Mitsuru could not perceive his eyes through the mop of brown hair.

"I think I know what you're going to say, but the way shit's been hitting the fan here, say it before something else tries to kill us. Back there, at the orphanage. . ." Shinjiro looked back up at her.

Mitsuru made the connection. Her hair slipped over her shoulders and tumbled past the edge of the platform as she shook her head.

"Shinjiro," she affirmed sternly, "I would have done _precisely_ the same had I been in your position."

She was a good way from him, but Mitsuru still noticed the tiny drop of Shinjiro's shoulders as he relaxed. He looked up at her coolly, the sentiment in his expression notably clearer. Of course, Mitsuru would have been worried if he hadn't tacked on the obligatory derisive afterthought.

"Like I give a shit what you think," he smiled ironically.

His response was enough. She'd confer with him in a moment, but first, she needed to regain some sense of balance before. . . No, _if _any strategy could be formed. Mitsuru rolled onto her back again and willed herself to stand.

"Hey," Mitsuru heard Shinjiro yell. "Did you hear that?"

She strained, but heard only silence.

"She's _fine,_" Shinjiro said. "So will you stop your god-damn pacing? You're making me sick."

* * *

"This might be a bad time, but," Minato said, appreciatively watching Elizabeth's lazy descent down the stairs. "You are absolutely _lovely._"

Elizabeth gave a humble curtsy.

"I will admit, my brushes with Death leave me feeling so. . .youthful."

"They're as good as dead, you know," Minato put forward instantly, sauntering carefully toward the charismatic elevator attendant.

"Oh yes," Elizabeth agreed, her fingers picking over the compendium's pages. "Especially after that little debacle with The Reaper, I feel compelled to send them somewhere with a bit more . . . edge, shall we say?"

"I'll do you one better," Minato dropped his rapier at Elizabeth's feet and met her gaze evenly. "Let me go through Cocytus alone and unarmed."

"Perhaps you did not understand me, Arisato-san," Elizabeth's twinkling eyes mocked him. "The shadows of Cocytus were collected specifically for their unique mind control abilities, they truly are one of a kind. Once destroyed, even the unequaled talents of my Master cannot duplicate them."

"You mentioned taking them somewhere else a moment ago. Let me go there instead, no extraneous contracts or outside factors to interfere this time."

"Now, why on earth should I do that?" she asked, placing a hand on her hip.

"Because choosing a few pawns over a Queen makes for very low stakes," Minato replied frankly.

Elizabeth's smile flickered.

"A game ceases to be challenging once its players become sloppy and fail to adapt," Minato went on. "Even if your shadows haven't killed those three, they've taken everything out of them. They're hanging on by a thread."

"Such confidence," she responded cordially.

"If you really built Cocytus for a master persona user," Minato softly shook the hair from his face as he spoke, "then I _know_ they can't be in good shape."

"Spoken like a superior specimen," Elizabeth laughed prettily as she crossed her arms. "However, after watching your teammates encounter the residents of Cocytus, I confess I find them to be superb combatants. They have conquered Cocytus with enormous speed and in better spirits than I could have ever anticipated. I'm still not entirely convinced I should release them."

"By all means, keep them if you think they can entertain whatever challenges you have up your sleeve. Now, if you're really serious about having some fun," Minato spun his evoker over his finger and offered the handle to Elizabeth. "Why not go with something tried and true?"

_Your heart is a blossoming garden._

Minato's smirk fell and Elizabeth stepped closer, her strange eyes devouring him.

"Very well, Arisato-san. You argue your point well enough. At the top of these stairs, you will find your friends situated on three separate levels. On either side of those platforms, there is a point of re-entry and an exit, it should be fairly obvious which one is which. If you can convince your team members that you are not a shadow spawned from their subconscious, I would urge them to take the exit. _If_ you can convince them."

Minato raised an eyebrow.

"Exit?"

"A_ leap of faith, _I believe you call it."

"I have to get them to jump?" Minato queried flatly.

"An elementary task for one as charming as you. However," Elizabeth's voice hushed as her gloved fingertips pushed Minato's evoker back to him. "I daresay you'll need this."

"Thank you," Minato said graciously.

"I will release your friends to Tartarus' main interior once you arrive on level one of Cocytus. From there I will find a location fitting for your talents, my dear guest. Do not forget your one hour window is imminently drawing to a close. Consider this warning my last courtesy of the evening, Arisato-san."

"You're a class act, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth grinned as she lifted Minato's discarded rapier with her foot and tossed it into the air. She caught it with a light stroke and vanished with the snap of her fingers.

Minato lowered his eyes, and looked up as Parvati's somber voice was replaced by Thor's baritone grumbling. With a deep breath, Minato flexed his knuckles and began a running start at the stairs, keeping his breathing quiet and steady. Speed was necessary, but power would be essential to success in the decisive moments ahead. His thoughts turned to the God of Thunder.

Time is of the essence, mighty Thor.

_I am not a tool of civil persuasion, boy._

I have no intention of employing diplomacy, I assure you.

Minato was so caught in the rush of intermingling sentiments of fear and anticipation, that when he reached the top of the stairs he narrowly avoided running straight off of a craggy edge. His weight swaying, Minato immediately threw a foot behind him to avoid dropping head first over a sheer cliff.

_Afraid of heights, are we?_

Just the kind that pop up out of nowhere. I had no idea Elizabeth's architectural skills were so. . . sexy!

The adrenaline triggered by urgency enabled Minato to overcome his shock quickly. In a matter of seconds, he was tapping his foot, taking in the location of his obstacle course and trying to cultivate a plan. His observation of idly cruising stairway fragments and rusted clocks ended when he spotted three separate islands below him. Closest to him was Mitsuru, who was struggling to stand aright. The level below her held Shinjiro, who had his back turned, and on the last platform was Akihiko, who was working with some visible aggravation to get a good look at Shinjiro.

Minato trembled as he let his arms go limp at his sides, his finger gingerly touching the trigger.

Right now, they were weaponless, exhausted, and teetering on the brink of sanity. Elizabeth may have accepted Minato's implication that they were at the end of their rope and therefore of little value, but he surmised she knew better. He peered down at his friends and began deliberating on the best way to take down each.

The truth was, he'd seen them, all three of them, exhausted and at their wit's end after a long night in Tartarus. It wasn't a pretty sight since the original trio could fight downright nasty given enough pressure and enough damage to their persons. Minato had always switched them out or called it a night when they started showcasing their raw survival instincts, a decision he was now beginning to regret now that he was to fight them.

Think you can handle a three man barrage?

_Child's play_.

When boxed into a corner like this, his three mentors were more volatile than ever before, and Minato had no idea what to expect except pain. With that little thought hanging over his head, Minato took Thor's belittling remark in stride.

"Easy for you to say," he murmured.

* * *

We play nice unless this gets lengthy, got it? She's badly hurt and I don't think the other two are much better off.

_By your command._

Thor was audibly unhappy with his master's order as Minato dropped down from his perch with Mitsuru in his cross-hairs. She was aware of his presence immediately, and a fraction of a second was all Minato needed to dismiss any chance of a friendly exchange. Mitsuru may have been unarmed, but her swift and cutting hand movements nearly rattled the evoker out of Minato's hand. He dodged the flat of her hand as it flashed near his ear and managed to slip his arm around her waist.

His small victory quickly backfired. Mitsuru spun into him and brought a sharp knee into his gut. Minato doubled over, and soon after went flat on his face when Mitsuru slammed her foot into his back.

Minato pushed himself onto one elbow and fired his evoker just as Mitsuru was preparing to deliver a teeth shattering kick. Thor stretched his arms wide as he wound up for a strike-

Of a sudden, Mitsuru froze.

The silence that permeated between them was thick enough to almost force her off of the edge, but Minato, unwilling to waste any more time, pulled himself to his feet. With every fiber of dignity he had left, he raised his eyes to hers, and with a sinking feeling, watched her expression dissolve into silent disbelief.

"Arisato," she tested with a murmur. With Thor waiting for direction, Minato cut across the space and placed his hands on her shoulders in reassurance.

* * *

Shinjiro tensed when the sound of combat ceased, his eyes eagerly glued to the bottom side of the upper platform.

Something was wrong.

Soon, Mitsuru's soft outline appeared over him. As she drew closer to the edge, he saw the pleats of her skirt sway and Shinjiro quickly realized she had stopped fighting entirely. In their early days, Shinjiro and Akihiko had learned fast and hard that if just one of them froze up, it meant certain defeat for the other two. This lesson could only be taught by the crushing blow from a shadow and Mitsuru Kirijo, who always peeled their sorry asses from the ground and who never, ever stopped in the middle of a fight.

Something was _very _wrong.

The heel of her boot was now suspended over the edge.

"Mitsuru," Shinjiro warned.

Just as he spoke, Shinjiro watched her lurch back, clearly pushed, as an invisible hand that could only belong to her enemy sent Mitsuru over the platform. Shocked, Shinjiro followed her diminishing form as she plummeted through the disconnected pieces of stairs and disfigured everyday items of the Dark Hour.

Below, Akihiko cried out.

Shinjiro looked back up, expecting to see some grotesque nightmare, the only rational thing that could cause the destined leader of a world empire to succumb.

Arisato Minato's cold eyes burned into Shinjiro's, and Shinjiro knew instantly that those eyes been watching him instead of Mitsuru's silent fall.

* * *

_Shall I continue to _play nice_?_

Minato gnashed his teeth at Thor's snide question as he sailed down to the next platform. Mitsuru's expertise was certainly not hand-to-hand combat, but the girl could throw a kick. A little worse for wear, Minato's descent finished slightly harder than he would have hoped, but he came to a quick recovery. Minato stood, and with a slow turn to his left, he found himself re-engaged in a dead stare with Aragaki Shinjiro.

"Shinji!" A voice called out.

The two did not break eye contact.

Immediately, Minato was taken back to Shinjiro's less than formal re-induction into S.E.E.S. When Akihiko had introduced Minato to the quiet upperclassman as leader, Minato had received the same measuring stare. Now, as Minato felt the Shinjiro's familiar unaffected and patient countenance, he had a hunch his distant comrade wouldn't be won over with words.

"Shinji!" Akihiko called again.

"_What_?" Shinjiro turned his head slightly, his suspecting eyes never leaving Minato.

"What the hell just happened? _Mitsuru-_"

Minato watched Shinjiro blink lazily back at him as Akihiko's hoarse voice traveled up.

"It's Arisato," Shinjiro said, the pitch of his voice curving decidedly down.

Minato felt a stabbing sensation in his gut.

Shinjiro made no utterance of suspecting a doppelganger, so something must have given him away. Shinjiro could have deduced Minato's identity from Mitsuru's sudden cease fire or perhaps simply seeing Minato had tipped him off, right now, it hardly mattered which. The dark tone of Shinjiro's voice and his twitching fingertips clearly indicated Shinjiro's latent anger was swiftly awakening.

_Waiting for something?_

Minato snapped out of his reverie and lifted his evoker to his temple. Shinjiro was on the wrong side of the platform, and with precious moments already wasted, Minato needed a focused attack to get him over the edge. Minato pulled the trigger and aimed Thor in position behind Shinjiro's back. Shinjiro jumped aside as Minato summoned, but did not escape Thor's Mighty Strike. Thor evaporated back to the recesses of Minato's mind as Shinjiro landed in the center of the small combat station. Long and strong, Minato reminded himself. Before his senpai could rise, Minato leaped over to Shinjiro and managed to lock his hands on his opponent's collar, his heart skipping with panic when his evoker fell from his hand. Shinjiro exploded at the contact, and from his fallen position, he latched onto Minato and vaulted up.

Shinjiro might have been sluggish, but he still fought like a bear. With brick heavy momentum, Shinjiro caught Minato by his lapels and slammed the novice fighter back to the platform. Minato was grappling against Shinjiro's hold before he realized they had switched places, and now Shinjiro's hands were firmly clenching down around Minato's neck. The blood in his head was beginning to swell, and just when Shinjiro began to slacken throttling him, Minato threw Shinjiro off with a quick shove with his feet. Shinjiro flew back, and eager to keep his senpai's balance in a spin, Minato jumped up and helped Shinjiro over the edge with a mild kick.

Shinjiro finally went over, but did not fall. Minato approached the edge and looked down, trying not to laugh in exasperation when he saw that his senpai still clung to the edge with one hand. Heaving, Minato leaned down and grasped the defeated rogue's wrist.

"Kick my ass for this later," Minato puffed, and without further hesitation, he plucked Shinjiro's hand from the edge and watched him drop into the quiet oblivion.

* * *

Only Akihiko remained.

Hell, Minato thought as he skipped lightly over the rim of the vacant platform, after taking down a sledgehammer like Shinjiro Aragaki, overtaking Gekkoukan's star athlete ought to be a piece of cake. The drop was steeper than it looked, and Minato anticipated a bumpy landing-

"_You're not taking me down without a fight!"_

Akihiko didn't waste any time attacking Minato, and the second Minato came within Akihiko's striking distance, the underclassman's fall was broken by the last remaining senpai's eruptive attacks.

On second thought, Minato corrected himself as he and Akihiko became one rolling punch fest, fortune might have been a hell of a lot kinder if he'd been able to take Akihiko by surprise instead of the other two. Not only did Akihiko have ample warning of Minato's unfriendly intentions, but the quick to anger boxer had also witnessed his two cohorts cut down in the blink of an eye. Any previous thoughts of Shinjiro being Minato's most dangerous obstacle were quickly dispelled as absolutely ridiculous.

Perhaps, Minato noted as he narrowly avoided Akihiko's signature skull crushing swing, if he could just have one second to slip Thor into the fray, Minato could have a chance at delivering the last survivor to safety. Minato flipped back and slid away to the edge, the heat of Akihiko's hits still white hot on his skin. Minato pushed his evoker to his temple, but before he could pull the trigger, Akihiko came rushing in. Minato took a pivot to his left to avoid the brunt of Akihiko's accelerated rage, only to remember a pit of glowing blue awaited his enraged senpai should Minato avert his attack.

Akihiko swung, missed his target, and stumbled over the threshold-

* * *

A hand seized Akihiko by his collar before he hurled into the tumultous hell below. Akihiko went sprawling back onto the ground and saw that it was the shadow that had pulled him back from the edge. The creature with Minato's cool eyes watched as Akihiko collected himself. Cursing, Akihiko regained his fighting stance as the Minato look alike drew near, an evoker in his hand. It must have found a way to duplicate Minato's personas, his evoker, everything Akihiko's brain knew about him. God, what he'd do to have Polydeuces' pesky voice back-

_HELLO? HELLO? EARTH TO GENIUS! I'VE BEEN TALKING TO YOU THIS WHOLE TIME!_

Not now, I'm thinking-

_OH, I'M SORRY! IS THIS A BAD TIME FOR YOU TO PULL YOUR HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS? Remember our little conversation after the dinner party fiasco? We can't communicate when you're under shadows' control! If we're having this little chat-_

Then. . . he's not a. . .

Akihiko's eyes enlarged and Minato gazed back at him aloofly, tapping his evoker loosely against his thigh before raising the gun to his temple.

_THE BOY WONDER MAKES AN ASTONISHING LEAP IN HIS COGNITIVE SPEED! I swear to GOD! Hit first, ask questions later-_

Fine, I'm an idiot. But even if he's not a shadow, he just threw Mitsuru and Shinji off a ledge. Explain that, if you're so omnipotent.

_In a word? Fucked. You're fucked._

Is everything a joke to you? He's _attacking_ us-

Minato's evoker blasted against Akihiko's ears, and Thor came bounding toward him. Akihiko dropped down and dodged the Nordic heavyweight's Mighty Strike.

_You know I can't explain his actions, not with absolute certainty._

Then let's hit him with everything we've got.

Akihiko hopped up, and managed a cracking hit against Minato's cheek.

_Oh, SURE! That'd go over GREAT! Hey, remember when you used to drag your feet on the carpet and zap Miki-chan with your finger? That's essentially what I'm capable of against the God of Thunder._

So we just lay down and die? Like some wounded animal?

Akihiko's arms were starting to feel heavy, and after easily dodging Akihiko's left hook, Minato eagerly took advantage of his opponent's lapse in confidence. One sickening sucker-punch later, and Akihiko was back on the ground.

_Think, Akihiko. Why did he choose to push your pals back there off of those platforms? Wouldn't it be easier to turn them into mincemeat? We've both seen what this guy can do, and he's downright TERRIFYING with the right persona. __If he wanted you dead, he'd have Thanatos gnawing on your spine right now. __Instead he's got Thor, and Thor hits like a train, but he's not a butcher. __He wants you over that edge._

Akihiko was back on his feet for all of three seconds when the Junior came again. Minato layered one hit on top of another, his punches becoming smoother and increasingly well connected. He'd definitely improved, but Akihiko knew Minato still had a long way to go before Minato could stack up against any of Akihiko's ring worthy opponents. Judging by the look of reticent victory on Minato's face, Akihiko presumed his teammate had reached the same conclusion and was simply capitalizing on Akihiko's growing reluctance to strike back.

Why doesn't he just ask me, then?

_OH, because you're SUCH a good listener!_

Jesus, he's asked me to do stranger things before-

_Look, whining and bemoaning betrayal is something people typically do when they're ALIVE. So if you want to continue this little drama later, FINE, first do what he wants you to do! And if you don't trust him enough to do it then it's your fault for picking him for the job._

Blindsided by Thor's massive presence on his left, Akihiko was knocked over by Minato's right fist.

I wouldn't have picked him if I had known he was going to push us over a god damn cliff-

_YOU'RE MISSING THE POINT, JACKASS! For once, PLEASE, be the bigger man here. Listen to the part of you that suspects more, listen to _me_: Flight over fight._

Akihiko was too paralyzed by Polydeuces' implication to see Minato's nimble advance to his place upon the floor. The younger man leaned over Akihiko, paused, and socked him straight in the gut. Minato's fatigued breaths grew hot against Akihiko's neck. He heard Minato grunt out a single determined breath before Akihiko felt himself being dragged.

You talk too much.

_And?_

Now was his chance. Akihiko shut his eyes, feeling himself being pulled closer to the ominous brink of nothingness. He could get up and fight to the end, fight until one of them broke in half, but something in him stalled and kept him grounded. A gust of air stirred him from his introspection.

If we die, it's your fault.

_Well, you're never living this down if we don't._

I'm not sure which is worse.

He was being held up by his collar, a green abyss waiting behind him. With a sharp look, Akihiko gave Minato one final wallop to the head, a clear indication of Akihiko's current feelings toward the leader. Minato's head snapped back from the impact, but he did not let go.

"I have a feeling I have a few more of those coming," Minato remarked, spitting.

Akihiko nodded knowingly, and spread his arms wide as Minato released him.

_Together, Akihiko. We are always together. Remember._

Always_._

* * *

Minato sighed, exhausted, as Akihiko disappeared from view.

"Well," he said to no one in particular, holding his evoker to his eyes. "I think that went pretty well, considering."

_Spare me your musings. Next time, summon my power only if you intend to use it._

"Okie dokie," Minato shrugged.

He tucked his evoker into the holster on his hip, and with a peaceful sigh, spread his arms wide and dove into silent blue swirls of Cocytus.

* * *

_As it never has and never will, time has not chosen your side._

Fuuka clasped her hands together, head bowed in tempestuous prayer. Behind her, the others paced and murmured their worry.

We have to give them every last second.

_Every last second,_ Lucia confirmed._ Every last chance._

The finality of her persona's words was short lived, as the world behind Fuuka's eyes ruptured in a flurry of movement and static. The excitement left her shaking, and just as Fuuka was certain the furious noise and chaos would never end, she saw a young woman, lying injured on the ground with a curtain of red hair falling around her as she tried to pull herself up.

_Empress. One and twelve._

Fuuka threw her hands up suddenly and called out to her remaining teammates.

"Mitsuru-senpai! She's on the 112th floor, someone please find her and bring her back!"

Junpei nodded curtly and went barreling into the pulsing green portal, while the others now focused intently on Fuuka as she returned to Lucia's embrace and clenched her fists to her chest.

Lucia was frantically scouting now, and Fuuka commanded her eyes to search lower, guessing that if someone else turned up, it would not be on the same random floor. Fuuka's eyes opened to Aigis, urgently positioned in front of her.

_Hierophant. Nine and seven._

"Shinjiro-senpai's on the 97th floor," Fuuka's voice rippled around S.E.E.S. "I don't know if he can walk. Aigis, you're the only one strong enough to carry him back."

"I will go," the mechanical maiden replied dutifully, and soon, she had disappeared into the portal after Junpei.

Seconds after Aigis' departure, Lucia whispered once more.

_Emperor. Eight and four._

Koromaru barked, and Fuuka turned to Yukari.

"Akihiko-senpai is on the 84th floor. Please, be quick!"

"I'll go, too!" Ken shouted, racing after Yukari and Koromaru as they swung into the portal.

"Wait!" Fuuka shouted as they disappeared. "We still have to find Minato-kun!"

* * *

He was sinking.

Minato opened his eyes to a beam of light and watched it disappear under the deepening shroud of water.

A few exasperated bubbles escaped him.

Headphones were probably ruined. Shit, he'd already bought about seven replacement sets since first coming to Port Island. Although, Minato thought, as an invisible weight pushed him further down into the vast ocean, this would be the first pair that he'd gotten waterlogged.

Minato closed his eyes as the screams for air emanating from his lungs intensified. Minato opened his mouth, ready to drown, when his body brushed against a hard surface. He swished about until his hands were flat on the ocean floor.

. . . The hell kind of ocean floor was made of concrete?

The sound of laughter echoed down from above.

More importantly, Minato wondered as a few more precious bubbles of air escaped his lips, what kind of ocean floor was made out of concrete _and _littered with coins? Minato grabbed a few fistfuls of golden loot and brought them to his eyes to inspect closer. There must have been at least a couple hundred yen down there, and every coin was spotless.

The rest of Minato's air came gurgling out.

No _way_.

He pushed off with his hands, and emerged out of a shallow fountain placed dead center in the Paulownia Mall plaza.

Elizabeth was clutching her sides, her laughter appearing much too strong for her tiny figure.

Minato stood gasping, his wide eyes taking in the festive store decorations and strolling shoppers, none of whom seemed to notice the drenched youngster wading in the fountain. Minato leaned over as he coughed and hacked the remaining water from his lungs.

"Arisato-san!" Elizabeth called out, a giggle speckling her voice. "Don't you think it's time to come out of there? You might draw a crowd with clothes that wet."

Minato looked at her vacantly, the last of his gasps past his lips. Lethargically, Minato pushed the hair out of his eyes and waded to the rim of the fountain where he sat down and swung his legs over the edge. Elizabeth sidled up next to him, still chirping with laughter as Minato leaned over and put his head between his legs.

"Where are we?" Minato dragged a hand across his eyes and blinked. "You said Cocytus. . ."

Elizabeth shook her head.

"Don't you recognize it?"

"Well, it's definitely Paulownia Mall. . ."

"Not just any Paulownia Mall, Arisato-san," Elizabeth leaned in and pushed a lock of wet hair from Minato's face.

"This Paulownia Mall is the heart of my most cherished memory, and more importantly, a very real taste of your reward."


	18. Chapter 18

She had forgotten her umbrella.

From under the protection of his own umbrella, Minato watched her switch off the ignition and remove her helmet. A girl like Mitsuru Kirijo did not simply forget something like an umbrella, especially on a nasty morning like this. Minato cocked his head as he observed Mitsuru purposefully dismount her bike and begin a slow and steady climb up the stairs to the cemetery.

He'd join her in a moment. Right now, Minato needed to sort out how he was going to approach his senpai. This was hardly an appropriate time and place for an apology. Minato dipped his umbrella to the ground and twirled it idly, content in his hiding spot behind a group of faded grave markers.

He had lost Shinjiro-senpai, a great mentor and friend to him despite their brief friendship, and soon Akiniri would fade into the sun. Sooner or later, Death would claim every one of his friends, he realized. Despite that, Minato could not help but count Death as his closest friend. It was the only constant in his life, the only anchor Minato had, and the sole force responsible for bring both he and his team together. With Death as his friend, it was easy to see why he felt such peace here.

Minato decided to linger among the dead for just another minute.

He looked at the orb in his hand and squeezed it tightly, closing his eyes. Being careful not to hold on to the object too tightly, he tilted his head and looked at his skewed reflection on the ball's glossy surface.

A few stray droplets of rainwater slipped from his hair.

* * *

A few stray droplets of fountain water slipped from his hair.

He watched the tiny bullets of water fall, and by the time the drops hit the ground, the elegant tile of Paulownia Mall had reverted back to the black stone of Cocytus. Minato found his gaze being pulled in by the gravity Elizabeth's presence, and when he met her eyes he saw that she held a black glass orb the size of a baseball in her hand. Her other hand was held even to Minato's eyes, her pointer finger extended up.

"Only at the end of all things, when hope's light begins to dim, will you know the weight this reward carries," she said softly, offering him the glass orb. "Please, be wise in deploying its power."

Minato nodded, and when he took the small orb in his hands he was instantly struck by its bulk.

"Our evening is coming to an end. Before we part, may I be of further assistance?"

"If it's not too much trouble," Minato said with a soft smile. "I'd like to speak to our mutual friend."

Elizabeth inclined her head in a soft nod, a knowing smile gracing her lips.

"That will be 175,000 yen, please."

With a wince, Minato reached his hand into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his now ruined wallet. He retrieved a few soggy notes which Elizabeth took in exchange for a small tarot card from the giant book in her hand.

"I guess this means I have to wait to see you in action," Minato grinned flirtatiously as he slipped the card into his back pocket.

Elizabeth awarded him with a genuine smile.

"Farewell, for now."

Minato nodded and turned down the hallway in an explosive run, not waiting to see Elizabeth disappear. A frightened shadow scampered fretfully from his path, and Minato sharply brought his heel down on it's head as he sprinted by. If he remembered correctly, the portal was at the other end of this level. He could make it in time, but only if he maintained this speed-

_Your heart is a blossoming garden._

Fuck you, Loki.

_Ouch! Didn't you miss me?_

Difficult, as I'm currently pulling myself out of the mess you made.

_Oh, but I've been out of the picture this whole time, remember?_

As if you need to be present to cause wanton chaos.

_I am pretty good, aren't I?_

When you suggested I use resources outside of the Compendium, you mentioned that it was difficult to trick someone as conniving as you, but you never said it wasn't worth your while. If there's anything you have in common with your Norse counterparts, it's that none of you back down from a challenge.

_You know me in and out, it seems._

Not just me. You're also on fairly intimate terms with the attendant of the Velvet Room.

_We're kindred spirits, really._

So you know Elizabeth, despite being absolutely terrifying without even lifting a finger, is neither angel nor demon. When she delegates challenges, she does so because she's a teacher with lessons to impart not because she has any secondary motives.

_So?_

I conducted myself and this rescue assuming that Elizabeth was by nature a vindictive person and would bring Cocytus down on my senpai if I so much as mentioned an extraction. She hollowed out an _entire block_ for God's sake, so to me it was clear that she would take it as a personal affront should I so much as touch it. When shit hit the fan, I assumed the worst from Elizabeth.

_Oh, did little ole' me bring you to that conclusion?_

No need to be coy. I wonder what might have happened had I simply asked her to join them instead of almost getting everyone killed with subterfuge?

_The very premise bores me to tears._

Once you confirmed my suspicions that Elizabeth was a persona user, I dismissed you.

_But not before letting me in on some of the juicy details of your cute little plan._

I knew I could count on the God of Mischief to tactfully rat me out. What exactly did you tell her?

_Just that you were using Death._

That's pretty vague, Loki.

_I'm so glad there was no 'why' at the end of that thought, Ace. Dollface already had the homecourt advantage, so giving her any more information other than 'Death' would have killed the game early on, and hoooey talk about boring._ _More to the point, though, _Death_ is vague. Someone like you, who attracts Death like a swarm of bees to a hive, knows his presence is pervasive, his shapes and forms limitless. So when you started honing in on Thany-kun, poor neglected soul that he is, I couldn't help but think how specific you were being with a normally touchy subject. You were pointing over to the side at Thanatos so that when you pulled The Reaper out of your hat, everyone involved would be floored; a master magician._

Everyone involved, except for you.

_I know you in and out, too, Ace. You're a go big or go home kind of guy. You did not disappoint me, at least not in that respect._

Dare I ask where I _did_ disappoint you?

_I'm starting to notice something about you that doesn't bode well for me as your future favorite sidekick. You were _talking_ an awful lot about pawns and queens back there. Which would have led a less perceptive individual to the conclusion that you use your friends as a means to an end. It's talk like that might give someone with the impression that you are a cold, calculating, and hollow boy who chooses and keeps his friends based on what they can do for him. Your bark, however, is very different than your bite, and don't you dare think that you fooled Dollface, even for a second._

And?

_Tabula rasa no longer, my dear._

Great. Good for me. Except none of that matters to those three. I attacked them and they'll never trust me again.

_Don't be so sure, Ace. Just a moment ago you were musing about teachers and rewards gained. Have you learned something from this debacle?_

Yes. Norse gods are total dicks.

_Tell me what I want to hear, you mushy-hearted bastard._

How about I say thanks instead?

_Would you thank a fox for being a fox?_

* * *

Minato came spitting out of the portal and landed on squarely his feet. Fuuka whirled around to meet him as Lucia rolled away into a cloud of mist.

"Minato-kun, thank goodness, I was so worried-" Fuuka's hands shook as she spoke, and she was so shaken that she did not seem to notice as Minato made a stumbling run toward her.

"Who's left?" He asked, snatching her by the hand.

A familiar rumble began to shake the walls of the foyer.

"I-It's just us," Fuuka stammered above the growing tremors.

"Fantastic!" Minato exclaimed as he firmly pushed his hand to Fuuka's elbow and drove her toward the main doors. They crossed the threshold to the outside world seconds before Tartarus gave one last guttural heave and folded into Gekkoukan High.

With a harried pace, they approached the rest of S.E.E.S. who were loosely grouped together just outside the gates. Fuuka broke from Minato's grasp and began her flustered headcount. Minato was hardly winded, night after night of running through Tartarus had relieved him of that weakness, but rather he was struggling with the deep sense of dread expanding in his stomach.

The frenzied clamor of voices was beginning to die around him, and Minato boldly lifted his head up to meet his group's varying expressions of heated concern. As he moved his eyes from person to person, Minato began to feel slightly more confident in his ability to gloss this disaster over as a mishandled act of God (even though Junpei was currently fixing him with a look that could kill). He'd explained his way out of stranger things, after all. His confidence was crushed when his eyes came to rest on Akihiko, now carefully examining Mitsuru's badly burned arm.

The sensation in Minato's stomach turned white hot.

His friends had surely been discussing his sudden and poorly explained disappearance into Tartarus, and Minato realized that the longer he waited to start speaking, the more his friends would suspect him of foul play. In an effort to appear cool and collected, Minato took a step forward, intending to walk straight into the center of his friends and regale them with a brilliant explanation when his foot caught on a crack in the sidewalk.

He stumbled forward, and was saved from crashing headlong in the pavement when someone caught the collar of his shirt and set him aright.

Minato looked to his sidewalk savior and then had the grace to quickly look away.

"Uh, thanks. Guess I'm still a little disoriented."

"No shit?" Shinjiro remarked innocently, dusting Minato's shoulder lightly before clapping his hand firmly against his back. "I think I can relate."

"What the hell man?!" Junpei exploded, instantly hushing the other voices. "What the _hell _was that?! Is that alpha-crown of yours slipping? I hope getting into a race with the friggin' Reaper is gonna cut it for a while."

"Look, I-" Minato started as Junpei came stomping up to meet him.

"Just where the _fuck_ did you go-"

"Cool it, Iori."

The Magician's fire was stymied by the low growl in Shinjiro's voice. Minato looked over at his senpai, his own startled expression matching Junpei's.

"We were sealed in a separate block. Arisato got caught in The Reaper's path when he came looking for us. He managed to ditch him, though. He found us and squeezed us out, just before Tartarus came down. Nice timing, too. Who knows what would have happened to us if we were there any longer. Right, guys?"

A dark silence enveloped the team, and all eyes went to Mitsuru and Akihiko, who were both engaged in a quiet conversation as Akihiko attended to his injured comrade. Minato continued to gape at Shinjiro with wide eyes, unbelieving of the complete fabrication his senpai had uttered without batting an eyelash.

"Indeed," Mitsuru murmured, prompting Minato to look at her and then quickly look away as she continued. "We would have surely been in dire straights had you not arrived when you did, Arisato."

Akihiko fixed Minato with a firm stare as Mitsuru spoke. His eyes moved to Shinjiro's before he nodded curtly at Arisato and resumed his work on Mitsuru's injury.

Minato wrenched his eyes close, on the verge of the losing the contents of his stomach when he felt Shinjiro administer a painful pinch his shoulder. Minato heeded his cue immediately and opened his eyes to Junpei, who did not appear to have shifted his fuming gaze away from Minato.

"And that little treasure you were looking for?" he hissed quietly, stepping closer to Minato. "Did you find _that_?"

Minato took a deep breath in, and suddenly felt a hand brush against the holster on his hip.

"Well, I'll be a son of a bitch," Shinjiro said as he took his beanie from Minato and placed it over his head with an expression of muted delight.

"You found it," he continued smilingly, returning his hand firmly to Minato's shoulder.

* * *

One week later, Minato found himself rolling off of his bed and planting his feet firmly on the carpet. A series of knocks and broken into his sleep on what was supposed to be his glorious day off from doing anything productive.

He opened the door to Shinjiro, who offered him a friendly smile.

"Good morning. I'm here to collect an ass-kicking."

"Ah," Minato paused before nodding. "I'll get my jacket."

* * *

Less than an hour later, Minato's head fell back against the soft earth behind the Gekkoukan High track. He heard the gentle crackle of leaves breaking against his ear. The scent of damp leaves and crisp air wafted in one nostril, and his other nostril was filled with blood.

Beside him, Shinjiro fell back to the grass with a contented sigh.

"I feel great," he said.

Minato turned his head and watched Shinjiro close his eyes and settle his arms underneath his head. Wiping the blood from his nose, Minato nodded and returned his gaze to the sky.

"It's a beautiful day."

A slight breeze shook the branches of the tree above them, and Minato watched as the leaves fluttered and danced to the ground. He closed his eyes, still sniffling blood.

"Akihiko-senpai says my right guard is too low."

"He's right," Shinjiro responded immediately. "I got three good pops in before you fixed it."

Minato licked his lips.

"He could have bashed my head in that night," he said carefully.

"Easily."

"But he didn't," Minato led on.

"I'm discovering he's got an ounce or two of self control in him," Shinjiro remarked, the smile on his lips evident in his tone.

"You knew it was me that night," Minato asked finally. "How?"

"What, aside from your shitty blocks? Castor started yammering the second you came tumbling down off that platform."

"Your personas tipped you off?" Minato asked, intrigued.

"Our personas_ showed up_. We learned pretty quickly that once a shadow had us in their control, we were blocked from communicating with our personas. Mitsuru said she was ready to carpet the floor with your brains when her persona piped up. If she was hearing her persona, then it meant you weren't some sort of ploy from a shadow."

"Okay," Minato said, his first question satisfied. "But aside from Akihiko-senpai mentioning my shitty blocks, no one's called me out on it until now. Why?"

Shinjiro released a tense sigh.

"The three of us talked about it a couple of times, actually. Talk about some fun conversations. Kirijo and I are well acquainted with having a few skeletons in the closet and knew that if we started pushing you about your own, we'd make a right fine pair of hypocrites. So, initially, it was a question of whether or not the ends justified the means. In this case, Kirijo and I thought it did."

"But not Akihiko-senpai," Minato pointed out.

"_Aki_, _Aki_, _Aki_," Shinjiro murmured under his breath. "He felt that you should have attempted to convince us that you weren't a shadow instead of coming in guns ablaze."

"Would you have believed me? If I had tried-"

"Not the point friend," Shinjiro interrupted good-naturedly. "The point was that by the way you conducted yourself, you _knew _we would mistake you for a shadow."

A small rivulet of blood slipped out of Minato's nose.

"Now, how on earth could you have known that, unless you knew what we'd been through?

". . . Senpai, I-"

"With language so refined I put Mitsuru to shame, I reminded Aki that had it been him, there's no way he would have attempted persuasion of the verbal sort. He had the good sense to own up to that, at least. At that point it wasn't so much about us or whether or not the ends justified the means but whether or not you could be trusted to lead a bunch of doe-eyed kids into a mutated tower, given your somewhat dodgy behavior that night."

"Doe-eyed kids?" Minato repeated, pinching his nose to delay any further blood flow. "Have you _met _Aigis?"

Shinjiro shot Minato a look that instantly reminded the underclassman to be serious before continuing.

"We decided that it was in S.E.E.S. best interest to keep you on as leader."

"You guys . . . " Minato started somewhat miserably. "Since that night, you've been following me without trusting me?"

"Don't be insulting," Shinjiro snorted, flinging a handful of dandelions at Minato.

"If we didn't trust you, you wouldn't be here," he continued. "The same goes for everyone on this damn motley crew. Loyalty without trust is just blind faith, and the three of us have been at this shit for way too long to do something so naive. With these kids, though, you've just barely earned their trust. So we knew that if we publicly doubted you as leader, we'd be putting this whole fragile shit show at risk of collapse."

". . . I see. So," Minato fidgeted a bit before grasping a handful of dandelion artillery and returning fire on Shinjiro.

"If Akihiko-senpai was the only one who really had a beef with me, why were you the one at my door this morning? Has he really learned that much self control in a week?"

"Look, Arisato. Aki and Mitsuru are happy to go to their graves without ever speaking to you about that night. They're professionals at pretending life is peaches and cream when it ain't. I'm here to tell you that if you ever want to apologize or explain yourself, you can't wait for them to ask. As for me, whatever. I don't care. I just wanted to punch you. The secrets you have from that night are yours to keep, or not."

A small silence stretched between them as Minato fiddled with one of the wilted dandelions on his chest.

"You really just wanted to punch me?"

"Pretty much, though there is one thing I'm dying to know."

Minato turned his head in the grass expectantly.

"Why is it, without fail, whenever I mention the word _Shirakawa, _Aki and Mitsuru turn into glorified beets and have to leave the room?"

His conditioned response to the word 'Shirakawa' manifested as Minato cupped a hand to his cheek and sighed.

"Well, you know those mind control shadows?"

Shinjiro fixed him with a silent and deadly glare.

"Uh. . . of course you do. Sorry. Well you know that love hotel on Shirakawa Boulevard?"

"I know _of _it," Shinjiro replied, sounding slightly affronted.

"And do you know about our July mission?"

"Yeah, Yamagishi briefed me-"

Minato watched as Shinjiro's mouth froze into a distinct 'o'.

Quietly, Shinjiro rolled onto his side, back to Minato, and for a moment the Junior thought his senpai might be feeling ill. When Shinjiro rolled back, Minato saw he was in the throes of a silent laughing fit. At last his laughter came out in an uproar, causing Minato to chuckle at his own misfortune that night, something he swore would never happen.

"Ah, _shit_," Shinjiro giggled gleefully, wiping the tears from his face. "They can't even admit they walk to school together and a damn shadow gets them in alone in a hotel room. Thanks, kid. That made my day."

Their mutual chuckling gave way to a peaceful silence, and Minato closed his eyes in serenity.

"I have something from that night," he said at length, feeling the time was right. "Something I'd like to give you and-"

"It's wasted on me," Shinjiro said crisply. "Keep your shit."

The glowing calm Minato felt was suddenly pierced by the resolve in Shinjiro's voice.

"Are you ready for the Full Moon tomorrow?" Minato asked, pressed to change the subject.

A warm breeze rolled over them.

"I'm ready," Shinjiro responded simply.

When Minato looked over once more, he saw Shinjiro's eyes were open wide.

* * *

Akihiko crinkled his nose with bewilderment as he fixed the base of Shinji's grave with a squint. A bundle of neatly tied red roses lay in perfect composition with a Featherman figurine and a small chew toy. Yamagishi and Takeba typically brought lilies, and the others were more inclined to bring small trinkets such as the ones he saw, but Akhiko could not recall-

Akihiko's perplexed expression slipped seamlessly into a frown upon realizing who had brought the roses.

"You're not even here and I feel like you're rubbing something in my face," he murmured wryly.

The rhythmic thrumming of rain continued to beat against Akihiko's umbrella as he shifted his grasp on the handle and came to kneel before the simple headstone.

"And just in case you're wondering, she's still out of my league," he added abysmally as he bowed his head.

_Only your own thoughts can break you._

Akihiko looked up slightly, Caesar's voice drawing a mirthless chuckle from his throat.

Nice of you to chime in. Could have used that bit of advice last night.

Caesar fell silent again, and Akihiko let out an exasperated sigh. He tipped back the cover of his small shelter and surveyed the small cemetery. A dull angry ache filled his stomach when he noticed the red graffiti of Nyx's name coated like blood over the names of the dead. He closed his eyes again and focused on the rain dotting his skin.

To say last night had been rough would have been a joke. Arisato had chosen Akihiko and Mitsuru to lead a party into Monad, and it was nothing short of a disaster. At first, the titanlike strength of the shadows provided Akihiko with an exhilarating challenge. Their novelty soon wore off, however, when the shadows caught on to Akihiko's weakness to ice and Mitsuru's weakness to fire. The monsters bombarded Akihiko with Bufudyne attacks, rendering Mitsuru's persona of little use. Even with their enemies casually tossing around their weaknesses, neither Mitsuru nor Akihiko had hesitated to take a deadly blow for their leader when the shadows had targeted Minato.

After Mitsuru had taken yet another hit for him, Arisato had thought fast and limited Akihiko and Mitsuru to physical attacks while he assumed medical duty. The decision may have very well saved their lives, but in the end, no one in the small party had been able to walk let alone make it to the second tier of the basement level. Once they returned to the foyer, it was only the combined healing efforts of Aigis and Yukari's personas that allowed the rest of S.E.E.S. to assist Akihiko and Mitsuru back to the Iwatodai dorms.

Before Nyx, S.E.E.S usually returned home after a night of battling monsters and behaved as though they were at some informal after-party. Last night was a grave exception, and Akihiko knew morale had hit rock bottom when he took one glance into Mitsuru's downtrodden eyes. She had turned away quickly after bidding him goodnight, and Akihiko knew by the slump of her shoulders that Mitsuru was engaged in a deep internal struggle with her sense of resolve. He had closed his eyes to an exhausted sleep that night, his own conviction in a precarious position. If the shadows in Monad were any indication of what awaited them with Nyx's arrival, could any of them hope to be strong enough?

He was only as good as his routine, and once Akihiko had started his day at the crack of dawn, the two hours at the gym and one running the frayed edges of the Port Island had put him in better spirits. He had returned home for a quick shower and change before coming here.

Still feeling despondent, Akihiko rose to his feet and pulled his umbrella back over his head. He looked down at himself and sighed.

Akihiko wondered what Shinji would say if he could see him now; standing here in a pair of slacks, a red sweater and a black dress jacket. First, he'd scoff, but scoff in a way that was really a laugh. Then Shinji would probably fire off a few insults before kicking him in the shin or punching him in the ribs.

He wouldn't blame Shinji for any of it. Akihiko felt as ridiculous as he probably looked.

Typically he didn't bother to dress as nicely as he had done today, but with the amount of training that awaited him as well his teammates, Akihiko knew this might be one of the last times he could come here. A pang of grief quickly shot through him at the realization, and Akihiko's mind reached to his persona for some kind of reassurance. The sheets of rain running against his umbrella continued to be the only sound in his ears.

Akihiko sighed again, annoyed.

You're a lot less chatty these days.

_I wonder what that says about you?_

Akihiko snorted loudly.

"Does he speak to you?"

He turned around as Mitsuru gently ascended the hill to Shinji's grave. The instant he saw her, Akihiko happily recanted all regrets for dressing so formally. Akihiko smiled softly as he took her by the arm and gently guided her under the cover of his umbrella.

"He speaks through Caesar, I think," Akihiko paused before suddenly laughing. "I guess I should be thankful. Without Shinji doing what he did, I wouldn't have Caesar's strength."

Mitsuru offered him a sad smile before turning her eyes toward the grave.

"I understand," she said simply. Akihiko realized that she had not removed his hand from her arm and he suddenly felt a new swell of empathy blossom in the space between them. Of _course _she understood, she'd just recently been through the same damn thing. She had lost her father and gained Artemesia, a figure of fierce power.

"What's she like?" Akihiko asked quietly.

"A little mischievous, a little brooding," Mitsuru hummed with conservative laughter, eyes roving over Shinjiro's grave for a moment longer before turning to him. "Though, in many ways she is the same as she ever was."

"I know what you mean," Akihiko growled under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. "Caesar's got the same cheek only now he's a stone cold hardass about it."

Mitsuru laughed and Akihiko felt his ears turn red.

"Uh, the roses are nice."

Mitsuru blushed slightly as she knelt down to adjust the flowers carefully against the stone.

"I could almost hear him admonishing the cliché. Still," she said as she stood and joined her hands. "I don't think he believed in 'small' acts."

He took in a deep breath as Mitsuru closed her eyes and gracefully dipped her head. When she looked up, he quickly looked away and tried to appear as though he'd been watching his feet.

"I apologize," Mitsuru murmured as she turned to him. She paused mid-thought and traced her fingers against a fading cut underneath Akihiko's chin. "I should have considered that you may have wished to be alone."

"No," Akihiko said, trying to ignore the goosebumps on his skin as he took her hand in his. "I should have asked you come here with me a long time ago. It's better with the three of us here."

"Does that mean I should leave, then?"

They turned to see Minato, who had paused his climb to flash them a playful smile from underneath his own umbrella.

"Arisato," Mitsuru greeted her friend warmly, her expression becoming curious as she noticed Minato pumped a strange glassy object in his free hand.

"Hey, Mitsuru-senpai. I'd offer you my umbrella, but it looks like Akihiko-senpai's got you covered."

"Are the others with you?" Akihiko asked, Mitsuru's hand still clasped in his.

"It's just me," Minato shook his head. "And I won't stay long. Catch," he added, tossing the glass ball underhand to Akihiko, who hesitantly released Mitsuru's hand to catch it.

He and Mitsuru bowed their heads as they ran their hands over the strange object, and Akihiko raised his eyebrow at Minato as Mitsuru took the orb into her hands.

"That bag of tricks of yours has got to be running low by now."

"Indeed, Arisato," Mitsuru said, intrigued by the object in her hands. "There is always more to you than what one can see."

She cringed immediately at the carelessness of her words. The revelations from December were still sinking in for everyone, and though Arisato appeared to be faring well, she knew the subject was still a sensitive one.

"Arisato-"

He dismissed her imminent apology with a wave.

"I'll try to keep this brief. Back in September, the three of you became trapped in a block of Tartarus for nearly six hours, or six days from where the rest of us stood. While I don't know what kind of things you saw, I do know that the block, otherwise known as Cocytus, was a block specifically constructed for a master persona user. Which is why it contained Tartarus' most powerful mind control shadows. Whatever happened to you, was supposed to have happened to me. For that, I apologize. Please,"

Minato bent at the waist and bowed deeply to his senpai.

"Forgive me."

An astonished quiet blanketed the three friends, and a gentle roll of thunder brought a fresh wave of heavy rain. It was enough to snap Akihiko from his reverie.

"Where is this coming from?" he murmured, shaking his head.

"You guys are long overdue for an explanation," Minato answered.

"But what you're saying isn't possible," Mitsuru said firmly. "The Kirijo Group proved that with dire consequences. Tartarus' nature is far too volatile for any sort of outside manipulation-"

"Unless you have an insider," Akihiko interrupted darkly.

"Ah," Minato said, stepping forward and meeting Akihiko's gaze evenly. "Now that's where the lady in blue comes in."

A clap of lightning seared across the sky, and the explosion of thunder followed soon after.

"Lady in blue?" Mitsuru repeated numbly. "The woman in Monad . . . The woman Yamagishi saw you fighting?"

"She is an _exceptionally _gifted individual," Minato confirmed. "She built Cocytus, filled it with mind-control shadows, and presented me with a challenge: Survive."

"You're telling us that what we went through was a _game_?" Akihiko hissed under his breath, his posture ramrod straight.

Minato drew his shoulders up as if to shrug, but exhaled quietly instead.

"She doesn't play games. She creates opportunities for growth and improvement, and if I somehow manage to meet her expectations, she rewards me accordingly. In this case, if I survived Cocytus, then she would reward me with that," Minato nodded to the item in Mitsuru's hands.

"How could you survive Cocytus if you weren't even there?" Akihiko asked, his voice taut.

Minato smirked in response and pointed his finger to the sky.

"The personas I command are only as good as the arcana behind them. Their strength relies wholly on the bonds that back them up. Had I gone through Cocytus, I would have undoubtedly drawn on those strengths in order to survive anyway," Minato nodded respectfully to Shinjiro's grave before continuing.

"The bonds I have with you, each of you, is more powerful than I could ever hope to be alone. So that's why you were allowed to go in my place, and why I was essentially rewarded for your work. We're all of us one entity, made up of many different parts."

"This is all very overwhelming to hear," Mitsuru murmured, still processing Minato's words long after they reached her through the haze of heavy rain. Akihiko shook his head in disbelief and twisted his body toward Shinjiro's grave in deliberation.

"It took a lot of guts to come here, Arisato," he began sensibly. "I respect you for that, but the fact is, it just _doesn't matter _anymore," Akihiko gestured pointedly behind him, coldly laughing.

Minato took a few steps forward, his gaze on his feet.

"You guys took some pretty serious dings for me last night," he started. "It really got me thinking about some things, you know? I know I'll never be able to repay the sacrifices that you and the others have made for S.E.E.S. But then, I know that none of you would want me to do that, anyway. After all, you guys have your own reasons for being here. The only thing that is in my control at this moment, is giving you what you rightfully earned that night."

"This?" Mitsuru arched an eyebrow.

Minato smiled.

"Think of it as crystal ball, of sorts. Whoever is touching the orb begins by recalling a memory. If there's more than one person involved, then both individuals simply focus on a shared memory. Inside the confines of Tartarus, the orb allows you to live in that memory for an indefinite period of time. Outside of Tartarus, however, its power wanes considerably."

Mitsuru and Akihiko shared a dubious look and Minato waved his hands in a slight panic.

"Look, it's not what you think, okay? I'm not asking you to live in the past. Hell, I know you're both stubbornly focused on moving forward, and I'm sure not trying to give you some kind of consolation prize, either. Right now, more than ever, I need your experience and leadership to get us through the next few weeks. So maybe think of it as a practical gift, you know? Something to remind you of what you're fighting for," Minato shrugged, starting to walk backward down the hill.

"Arisato!" Mitsuru's voice temporarily halted his retreat. "What about you?"

"It's wasted on me. Just use it, already!" he called back laughingly. Before disappearing down the hill, Minato dropped his umbrella and shouted to the sky:

"And for God's sake, _enjoy it_!"

He disappeared behind the crest of the hill, leaving Akihiko and Mitsuru to stare down at the small orb with mixed expressions. The rain had ebbed from a furious downpour to a light drizzle, and Akihiko caught the flash of a songbird float down to a nearby headstone. He bit his lip and cocked his head to the side.

"Say the word and we'll pitch it in the ocean," he deadpanned.

Mitsuru exhaled sharply, her eyebrows knit together in consternation.

"I can't help but think of Shinjiro," she admitted after another moment of careful thought. "The implication this presents would no doubt displease him."

"No arguments there," Akihiko agreed with a mutter. "He'd break my face for so much as mentioning a stroll down memory lane at a time like this."

"Then again," Mitsuru countered. "I don't think we would be doing his memory a disservice if we did go back."

"Maybe he wouldn't want us to care about what he would have wanted," Akihiko said ironically, covering Mitsuru's hand over the orb with his own.

"_Maybe_," Mitsuru pushed back playfully. "We ought to consult Caesar's opinion. He is the most logical authority on this matter, it would seem."

Akihiko's smirk fell away.

He wasn't joking when he had said Caesar was a stone-cold hardass. Despite his reservations, when Mitsuru looked up at him encouragingly, Akihiko found himself shutting his eyes in concentration. Looking for advice from the kingly persona was a lot like looking for advice from a brick wall-

_The first day of July, two and a half years ago. You remember the night and so does she. _

Akihiko's eyes flew open. Startled, he looked down at Mitsuru, and almost immediately began to laugh. She looked up at him in wonder as he grasped her arms.

"Two and a half years ago, Mitsuru. You remember that night? That was the first night we encountered a shadow. Our first night as S.E.E.S."

Mitsuru's expression fell slightly, and alarm bells starting ringing in Akihiko's head. Had he been too presumptuous? The loss of her father was still so recent; Akihiko had not even considered that she might want to see him again-

"Absolutely."

"Absolutely?" Akihiko repeated unsurely.

"I absolutely remember it. I absolutely wish to go there," Mitsuru said unwaveringly.

He nodded, and took a step closer to Mitsuru, the orb shared tightly between them.

". . . How do we do this, again?" Akihiko asked nervously.

"I suppose we should start by recalling the smaller details," Mitsuru suggested softly. "I remember . . . the police station."

_She is injured. . ._

Akihiko closed his eyes, letting Caesar's voice carry him away.

"Shinjiro. . ." Mitsuru trailed off, and Akihiko distantly recognized that she sounded very tired.

_He is seated next to her. . . _

The ball in their hands began to swell with warmth.


	19. Chapter 19

From his seat outside of Officer Kurosawa's office, Tōshirō Miwa attempted to get a glimpse into the tiny window on the door by pushing himself up on the balls of his feet. His expertly polished boots made it uncomfortable, and Miwa quickly reproached himself for even attempting something so juvenile. Instead, he placated himself with fiddling with the radio on his shoulder and the sound of his boots tapping against the speckled tile floor.

Miwa glanced at his watch and then anxiously crossed his arms.

He was still new, but for some reason, Kurosawa-san had taken a liking to him and had started bringing him along for his midnight patrol. So far, his nights experience had been terrifying, boring, awkward, embarrassing, and though he couldn't be certain, some nights may have been a little fun.

Any feelings of amusement that Miwa may have been having three hours ago had been put to a swift death when he and Kurosawa happened upon a scene of absolute destruction on the Moonlight Bridge. Not only was there a gaping hole in the median the size of a semi-truck, but even more frightening, the water-facing barricade on the north side of the bridge had been blown to pieces. How any one person could even fathom the force required for such damage was beyond Miwa's comprehension, and had Kurosawa been absent, Miwa would have never known what to do with the three young Gekkoukan students lying in a heap near the precipice of the now ruined bridge. They had all piled into the car willingly. Miwa guessed their meekness could either be attributed to the shock from whatever mysterious calamity they had witnessed or their fear of what would happen should they try the patience of two police officers.

When Miwa had pulled up their background checks on the drive to the station, he was aghast to discover the identity of the refined young woman in the back of Kurosawa's car was indeed Mitsuru Kirijo. He had looked to Kurosawa, then, wondering what was going on through his mentor's mind as they drove in silence back to the station. The friendship between her father and Kurosawa was of some repute around the office and the two were rumored to be close personally as well as professionally since the explosion ten years ago at Gekkoukan High School.

He didn't have a clue about the two nobodys flanking her sides, but judging from the harsh whispering going on in the backseat of the car, Miwa figured they were bad news. Probably a couple of punk kids who thought they could gain some infamy if they dragged Kirijo's daughter into some anti-establishment cult. Stories like that were typical, even in small cities. Miwa didn't like the sour looks on either of their faces, and he especially did not care for the fact that of the three of them, Kirijo's daughter looked to be in the most distress.

After Miwa had led the trio of delinquents into Kurosawa's office, he had immediately petitioned his commanding officer about finding the girl some kind of medical attention. After all, she appeared to have been cut rather badly on her arm while the other two looked only to have some oddly situated bumps and scrapes.

Kurosawa had refused plainly, stating that the three would be questioned immediately. Together.

Miwa swallowed, feeling a twinge of nervousness for the trio of students. Sure they might be culpable of some wrong-doing, but were they really in _that _deep? He might be new, but Miwa realized that if these kids were anything like the other persons of interest that walked into Kurosawa's office, they'd be out in ten or fifteen minutes and Mitsuru Kirijo would be receiving medical attention in handcuffs.

The sound of a definitive pair of footsteps marching down the hall caused Miwa to lurch up from his seat and quickly don his policeman's cap. As Kurosawa approached, nose deep in a folder of freshly printed background checks, Miwa bowed low and nervously touched the cuffs of his uniform.

"Sir, are you sure I can't at least sit in? I know I'm just a rookie, but Makinose-san says you're the best at interrogating and I think I could really learn-"

"Questioning, Miwa. No one's being interrogated yet."

"Right. Sorry, sir-"

"Gekkos smashing things after curfew isn't exactly a rarity in Port Island. There are better teachers for you on Shirakawa Boulevard."

Miwa decided not to think too hard about that sentence.

"It's just that-"

"Yes?" Kurosawa raised his head, and Miwa could see the fine black rings under his eyes.

"Well . . . one of the persons of interest is Mitsuru Kirijo."

"So?"

"I mean . . . " Miwa shrugged uncomfortably. "She's Takeharu Kirijo's daughter. . . And those two guys with her are orphans from the country. . ."

"And that strikes you as suspicious?"

"Well, not particularly sir."

"No?"

Miwa shrugged again.

"I mean, just last night you booked that up and coming bureaucrat and that cocaine dealer together. Makinose-san was telling me that a few months ago you had a line cook and a singer from Kyoto in on two charges of extortion."

"Our detainees are probably getting nervous. Not that that's a bad thing."

"Yes, sir. It's just, questioning them _together_ instead of separately given the situation is highly unusual given standard protocol."

"You recall that I questioned the bureaucrat and the dealer together, Miwa?" Kurosawa said, keeping a steady eye on Miwa from underneath his cap. "Did Makinose mention that I did the same with the line cook and the singer?"

"Y-yes, he mentioned that . . ."

"So what exactly is so unusual about me interviewing three unusual suspects at one time?"

"Nothing, I guess. I. . . I just I thought I could learn something about your technique since . . . certain persons . . . seem to be saved for your unique line of group questioning."

"Well, what do you know?" Kurosawa smirked as he put his hand on the doorknob. "We just had ourselves a teaching moment and you didn't even have to step into my office."

* * *

Kurosawa did not attempt to close the door with any civility as he marched into his office. To the satisfaction of his grim sense of humor, all three detained subjects in his office flinched (albeit with varying degrees of nervousness). It was not long before Kurosawa felt a familiar ominous atmosphere fill the room. As much as he would have liked to take credit for instilling fear into the three young adults, Kurosawa knew the heavy feeling in the room too well to attribute it solely to his presence. After all, no one put before him was innocent, and the aura of guilt always manifested sooner or later.

He sat down behind his desk and set his eyes on each of the young Gekkos one by one before flipping the top page of his notebook back. He chewed the inside of his mouth for a moment as he read the top portion. He flipped the page and continued the process until there was nothing left to read.

"Akihiko Sanada?"

The slender silver haired boy on the far right slowly raised a bruised hand: top of the class.

"So you're the secret weapon?"

No one breathed.

"You're the Gekkoukan Men's Boxing Team newest recruit, aren't you?" Kurosawa suspended the page in his hand mid-flip as realization dawned upon the flustered athlete before him.

"Ah, I. . . y-yes, sir."

"You're going up against Ichinori next month in Nagoya, correct?"

"That's right."

"He's got a pretty tight left guard," Kurosawa folded his arms leisurely atop his desk as he leaned forward.

"I've seen him," Sanada replied mildly.

"Plan on beating him?"

"I don't plan on losing, sir," Sanada's response came without pause.

"Officer Kurosawa, if I may speak," the girl spoke without a quiver in her voice. Kurosawa turned to her easily and waved her on encouragingly.

"By all means, Miss Kirijo," Kurosawa said in his most pleasant tone.

"Before you conduct your investigation, I must claim culpability for the crimes which were committed. All of the damages which were wrought are to be owned by myself and myself alone. These two young men are to be exonerated of any crime. I can vouch for their innocence."

Kurosawa carefully scanned her eyes for any hesitation.

"You're confessing?"

"I am, sir," she answered, nonplussed.

Kurosawa licked his lips and straightened his posture as he began to search for the documents the crime scene unit had just submitted. He pressed a finger to the paper as he read aloud.

"You're telling me that you took out an entire retaining wall from the Moonlight Bridge by yourself."

"I did, sir."

"And the missing section of stone wall on the north side of the bridge," Kurosawa began moving his pen quickly. "Your handiwork as well?

"Yes, sir."

"And these two are injured because . . .?"

"They were in my way," she responded primly.

Kurosawa raised an eyebrow.

If he had handled her one on one, she might have made him actually work for his paycheck. However, Kurosawa would not have chosen his profession if he did not have the unwavering belief that the universe was just and always provided balance. He glanced at the other occupants in the room: Sanada was licking his lips and his ears were turning pink. Aragaki was providing less of a tell, though jamming a finger in his ear and flicking the wax to side could be considered a display of uneasiness.

These three kids had gotten into his squad car with the plan that Kirijo would take sole responsibility for the destruction. Admirable though it may be, Kurosawa couldn't use a false confession. He could keep at her with the good cop routine, but she was clearly willing to keep lying in order to absolve her two classmates of any blame.

Kurosawa gave Kirijo a soft knowing smile, and she hastily looked away.

He had a hunch that these two young men were less than obliging accomplices with the Kirijo's take all the blame strategy, but they had most likely agreed to it on the assumption that Takeharu Kirijo would waltz in armed with clout and sensible explanations and all involved would walk out with a clean slate.

Due to the nature of the incident at Gekkoukan High ten years ago, Takeharu Kirijo was never officially considered a person of interest in the explosion. There was simply too much evidence and eyewitness testimony supporting an accident. Instead, Takeharu Kirijo had come to Kurosawa just days after the investigation was closed and offered his complete and total cooperation in any endeavor the Port Island police deemed worth his time. It was a strange offer, and Kurosawa had considered questioning the CEO of the Kirijo Group, but realized he had only a gut feeling that something was wrong in his city.

Takeharu Kirijo had left his offer on the table, and had subtly repeated it throughout the years of police galas and benefits. Kurosawa was met with a choice: Wait for Takeharu to turn up and take him up on his offer of complete cooperation or gain complete cooperation from his daughter now, before The Kirijo Group had a chance to label this an accident.

If the events of last night were in any way related to the incident at Gekkoukan High ten years ago, then Kurosawa could not ignore the risk it posed to his city. Port Island was quickly becoming a hotbed for Apathy Syndrome and inexplicable late night disappearances, and as he mulled over how to best extract information from these three young kids, Kurosawa was growing ever more confident that these three held the key to fighting the unseen demons prowling in his city. First, he'd have to ease the truth from his charges, and in order to do that, he'd have to pick apart this charade of a story by appealing to Sanada and Aragaki's sense of honor.

His next move was set.

"Sounds like an open and shut case, Miss Kirijo. Thank you for making my job here so easy. Before I release your friends and book you, perhaps you could tell me how, in the process of single-handedly inflicting unparalleled damages to a bridge that's seen some of the most destructive typhoons in Japan's history, you managed to get a knife wound to your arm."

Kirijo's eyes fluttered to the ground, but just for a moment.

"Shrapnel, sir," she answered quickly.

"Ah," Kurosawa flipped a few pages over and pressed his chin into his hand as he mused aloud.

"Looking here, it seems the crime scene unit determined the force that caused those walls to break had a large enough surface area to cause a blunt impact. The debris, they say, was mostly in large clumps of stone and concrete. Now if I were to look around this room," Kurosawa scanned Aragaki carefully before landing on Sanada. "If anyone has injuries from 'large clumps of stone and concrete' it would be these young men."

Kurosawa's expression became grim as the girl before him began to tremble. Something shifted in Aragaki's subdued countenance and it was clear by the Sanada's shallow breathing that the young man was barely keeping his mouth shut.

Clearly, Kirijo had not been expecting him to press such a small matter, at least not so early in the interview and in so pleasant of a voice. As the seconds wore on, Kurosawa patiently watched as the blood thickened around her white knuckled grip on her injured arm.

"Miss Kirijo," Kurosawa joined his hands and squared his shoulders. "How did you manage to receive a slash to your arm when these two look like they were beaten with a sack of doorknobs?"

"Officer, let me-"

"I'm addressing Miss Kirijo, Sanada," Kurosawa warned quietly, careful not spare Kirijo from his gaze. "Miss Kirijo, are you or have you ever been involved in a cult?"

"N-no, Officer," she whispered, aghast. "Absolutely not-"

"Are your injuries the result of some kind of hazing ritual? Did these young men coerce you into participating?"

"Officer Kurosawa, please," her eyes were calm, but Kurosawa could hear the fear in her voice. "They've done nothing wrong-"

"Cut the shit."

Kurosawa's eyes were so ardently trained on the young lady that Shinjiro Aragaki's quiet voice almost caused him to blink. Kurosawa switched his target immediately, but still only just caught the protective flash in Aragaki's eyes before the young man's gaze waxed calm again.

"I'm rather hard of hearing," Kurosawa said in a voice which informed everyone that the policeman had heard Aragaki loud and clear. "Would you mind repeating that, son?"

"I said cut the shit, _sir_."

While his two accomplices paled and cringed in unison, Aragaki's pointed stare did not drift from Kurosawa's.

"Aragaki, is it? Do you have an issue with the question I've asked Miss Kirijo?" Kurosawa asked delicately.

"I have an issue with the way you've asked it."

"Please, continue."

The young man in question clicked his tongue and leaned forward onto his knees, as if debating a fine point at a dinner party.

"Not sure why a cop of all people is badgering an injured woman when two perfectly healthy thugs are available for interrogation."

"Thugs by comparison," Sanada added peevishly.

"I see," Kurosawa nodded as he leaned back easily in his chair and flexed his hands. "Then, since you're feeling chivalrous Aragaki, perhaps you wouldn't mind explaining how Miss Kirijo received her rather remarkable injury?"

Aragaki held his hands out, appearing genuinely at a loss.

"How the hell should I know how women get into these 'damsel in distress' situations?"

Kirijo was clenching her jaw, and an outsider might have guessed by the way her arms shook that the pain was becoming too much for her. A damsel in distress Kirijo was not, and he suspected Aragaki knew it. No, this kid was trying to divert the focus from Kirijo and take control of the situation, but he clearly had not run this tactic by Kirijo beforehand and getting in deep with the wrong heiress.

"You're not afraid of her?" Kurosawa asked, gesturing to Kirijo with his pen.

Aragaki paused, and then slowly smiled.

"Not as long as you're here."

"Sanada," Kurosawa tilted his head in the young man's direction. "Aragaki says Kirijo was a damsel in distress and Kirijo insists she worked alone. Which was it?"

"She. . ." Sanada stuttered, flustered by the sudden pressure. "I mean. . . she wasn't even supposed to be off the sidelines-"

"I _object-_" Kirijo snapped and beside her, Sanada turned a deeper shade of red. Aragaki made a wheezing noise that sounded like a mix between a laugh and scoff.

Kurosawa rapped softly on his desk, commanding a restrained silence of his captive audience once again.

"Miss Kirijo stated that it was you and Aragaki who were in the way just a minute ago. Which is she, Sanada? Victim or perpetrator?"

"Well, I . . . " Sanada was getting wound up. "She saved Shinji's ass."

"By means of complete stupidity," Aragaki added.

"Excuse me," Kirijo's composed interjection sliced into the room. "You must forgive my classmates' impropriety. They seem to have forgotten that I am indeed still in this room and perfectly able to give an explanation without resorting to coarse language. As you have seen, they are certainly in no position to explain anything to anyone. I acted alone-"

Kurosawa shook his head, and began to explain that no one, refined language or not, had explained exactly what transpired on the Moonlight Bridge. He was cut off when Sanada's patience finally snapped.

"Jesus, will you give it up already? Officer Kurosawa just wants us to go around in circles until we leak the whole damn thing. That's what he's been working at this whole time."

"To be fair, I can't claim to have actually _worked_ on any of you," Kurosawa shrugged. "In all my years of questioning suspects, I don't think I've ever seen the kind of sloppy corroboration that you three have displayed in the last seven minutes-"

"Mitsuru didn't do it alone, obviously," Sanada went on, puffing with exasperation. "All three of us are responsible; all three of us destroyed the bridge. Satisfied?"

A tense silence fell over the room for a moment as Kirijo fixed Sanada with a look of complete surprise.

"Kill joy," Aragaki threw in bitterly.

"Satisfied?" Kurosawa repeated as he reclined in his chair and crossed his arms. "Sure. Three eighteen year olds wiping out half of a fifty ton bridge makes _much more_ sense than just one eighteen year old. Yes, I'm satisfied," Kurosawa tapped his pen lightly to his desk before continuing.

"But you'll still need to recount to Takeharu Kirijo why his daughter bled to death in my office from a knife wound."

"Officer Kurosawa, I'm hardly in mortal peril," Kirijo said indignantly, her face now matching her vibrant hair color.

"That won't happen. You wouldn't let it," Sanada responded flatly.

"Even so," Aragaki shrugged. "It's not _our _office."

A series of knocks shook Kurosawa's door, and the hardened officer of the law turned his head as he called out.

"What is it?"

"Sir," Officer Miwa entered and gave an abrupt nod. "Takeharu Kirijo has been contacted. He's on his way."

"Thank you, Officer Miwa," Kurosawa looked to Kirijo, who now had her eyes focused keenly on the bottom of Kurosawa's desk. The door slammed shut as Miwa exited, and Kirijo jumped in her seat.

"Is that guy . . . ah, what's his name? Isshin? He still drive for your old man?"

It took a moment for Kirijo to realize Kurosawa was addressing her, but when she did her dread-filled eyes once again came up against Kurosawa's unwavering gaze.

"Y-Yes, sir. . . I believe so-"

"Good God," Kurosawa chuckled gruffly as he neatly organized the loose papers into a small stack. "Guy's gotta be eighty by now. He still drive like a bat out of hell?"

"I-" Mitsuru paused. "Yes."

"Well, kids, here's where we're at," Kurosawa said as he began to turn the gears of his wristwatch. "If Takeharu Kirijo hurries, and he will, I'd say the three of you have about thirty minutes to explain why you were out past curfew, why you're taking responsibility for demolishing a bridge, and why some of you are bleeding on to my floor."

"And if we decide to play the quiet game, instead?" Aragaki countered softly.

"Then we sit, Kirijo bleeds, and in thirty minutes," Kurosawa solemnly removed his cap, "all _four_ of us will be in seriously deep shit."

Sanada fidgeted slightly in his chair, looking first to Kirijo and then to Aragaki, and finally to Kurosawa before speaking.

"It's . . . a pretty incredible story, sir."

"What was it you said earlier, Aragaki?" Kurosawa let out a controlled exhale as he opened his desk drawer. Kirijo's eyes grew large as he withdrew the evidence bag, and Kurosawa watched her hand leave her bloodied arm and fumble at her hip.

"Ah, that's right. . ." The bag made a large thud as it knocked against Kurosawa's now empty desk. Inside the bag, a mid-sized gun gleamed in the early morning light.

"_Cut the shit._"

With the evidence staring them in the face, Sanada sighed, Kirijo's eyes became downcast, and Aragaki shrugged complacently.

"Okay," Aragaki said, a pleasant smile on his lips. "But don't say we didn't warn you."

* * *

_Poison hides in plain sight._

Penthesilea's words nearly went right through her.

Mitsuru's breath hitched in her throat as she watched Castor's shadow eclipse Aragaki's silhouette. From her vantage point on the south side of the Moonlight Bridge, she watched the strange persona move along an even trajectory toward the Masked Maya before blowing into an exposure in the monster's armor. Castor's gracefully brutal attack left the shadow screeching, but Mitsuru did not see victory. Instead her eyes were fixated on the Maya's dozens of hands, each one armed with a needle thin sword. Castor vanished, and Mitsuru could read the strange intoxicating effect that his attack had left on Aragaki.

"Aragaki, you are too close. Disengage while Sanada finishes the attack-"

On cue, Polydeuces emerged from behind the shadow with a blasting Sonic Fist. Mitsuru cringed as the attack missed and hit the north side of the bridge, spraying both Sanada and Aragaki with a wave of concrete. The scene before her was enveloped in a plume of gray, and for a few terrifying moments, Mitsuru heard only static.

"Did I hit him?!" Sanada's energized voice chimed in over the communicator.

Mitsuru did not respond, the fury in her throat mixing with a wave of relief as she sent Penthesilea scouting through the settling debris. When the armored queen returned, she relayed that a large stretch of wall had been blown clean out, exposing a sheer drop down to the water just inches away from where Sanada stood. Mitsuru bit back her rage and attempted communication once she spotted Sanada's figure rising from the ground.

"Negative, keep right and stay away from the-"

"Oh _shit._"

Sanada's back was turned to the enemy.

"Was that me?"

"_Concentrate, _Sanada_. _Attack again while the shadow is confused. You have to do it now_,_" Mitsuru repeated into her communicator sternly, her eyes searching desperately for Aragaki. She found him, now bruised and bloodied from explosion of concrete, but still unmoved from his stance.

"Aragaki, you are too close. Get out of range and-"

_The voice of Castor and the sound of blood rushing against his ears are indistinguishable to him. You must act now._

Mitsuru removed her evoker from her hip upon hearing Penthesilea's diagnosis and her eyes returned to Sanada, who was dancing around the Maya as if though it were a punching bag.

"Proceed with extreme caution," she said, abandoning her equipment and hastily making her way toward the two young men. "Those blades are poisonous. I repeat, remain clear of the Maya's blades."

Had she spared one last look up at Sanada, she might have seen that her warning had been drowned in the noise of his beating fists.

* * *

_. . . Afraid . . ._

"Aragaki!"

A shot was fired.

_. . . Be afraid . . ._

Still, he was rooted to the ground.

_Don't . . ._

"Aragaki!"

Every time Castor's voice slipped into his mind, something else in him froze. He knew he had to move, but even the threat of imminent death couldn't pull his feet from the ground.

_DON'T BE AFRAID_

"_Shinjiro, move_!"

He blinked, and a flash of red sailed before him just as one of the shadow's swords fell. Her blade fell to the ground in two pieces, and Mitsuru stepped back quickly before casting an ice spell. The Masked Maya recoiled at the freezing blow, and from the other side of the fight, Shinjiro could hear Akihiko summoning Polydeuces.

Quickly, Shinjiro found his evoker and went to unload a string of profanities at his self-appointed savior when he saw Mitsuru shudder. He lunged forward just as she fell back. He drew his arms around her and pulled her against him as he carefully deliberated how to phrase his next few words.

"You dumb_ fuck_."

"Really_, _Aragaki," he could feel her gasp for air against his chest. "Your language is reprehensible."

In the distance, Shinjiro listened as Akihiko summoned again.

He lowered her to the ground carefully, his hands shaking with rage.

"What the _hell_ was that?!" Shinjiro barked as he gently slipped his hands through her hair and cupped her head. "You really think that weak shit could kill me!?"

She responded with a grinding exhale as she placed a protective hand against her collarbone where a bloody line spilled onto her left arm. Shinjiro knit his brow, his eyes lingering on the laceration as it bloomed from red to black against Mitsuru's skin. Shinjiro frantically searched out Mitsuru's eyes for an answer, but stopped at her lips which now carried a sinister purple hue. She choked and began to cough.

"What've you done?" he whispered.

* * *

Akihiko leaned down and wiped the sweat from his brow as soon as he saw Castor rise above the shadow's head. After delivering a swift attack to the shadow, the dark persona disappeared. Akihiko had a few moments to spare while the Maya geared up for it's next assault.

"Shinji, what the hell was that? Why didn't you attack-"

"You need to get over here."

"What hap-"

"The General's down. Get over here, now."

Akihiko turned sharply toward Mitsuru's post on the south end of the bridge. Her motorcycle stood abandoned. Akihiko snarled at the Maya as it began to pull itself back up on it's haunches. He sent Polydeuces at the shadow with Zio and went barreling through the shadow's legs, dodging the blades as he went. As he approached, he saw the extent of the damage the Maya's blade had wrought on Mitsuru. Crouched beside her was Shinjiro, who had removed his coat and had deployed it as a makeshift cushion behind her head.

"Hang in there, Mitsuru-san," Akihiko murmured, kneeling down beside Shinjiro and summoning his persona's healing abilities. Mitsuru watched Polydeuces ascend and shook her head weakly. Akihiko creased his brow at Mitsuru's expression of pain as Dia sank into her wound.

"It's not working," he murmured, holding his hands out above their fallen leader in quiet desperation.

He tried again, and again Mitsuru shook her head and cringed as the healing spell held the opposite effect.

"It's not working," Akihiko repeated, looking to Shinjiro. "Why isn't it working?"

"Switch me out," Shinjiro replied, his eyes locked on the Masked Maya as it began to advance toward them. He met Akihiko's incredulous look with a grim nod.

"I can't help anyone here, but I can buy you some time to figure this out."

Akihiko watched as his friend silently stood up, found his ax, and marched over to the Masked Maya. When he was just inches away from the shadow's deadly limbs, he began heaving and waving his ax about, littering the ground with severed arms. Akihiko looked back down to Mitsuru, suddenly feeling extremely uncomfortable.

"Mitsuru-san," he said as he leaned over her and and clasped her hand in his. "I'm sorry, I. . . I didn't listen to you earlier. I don't know why the healing spell isn't working but if you could just give me a hint or a tip or-"

Akihiko was cut off abruptly when Mitsuru grasped him by his collar and pulled him in.

". . . _ison. . ._"

Akihiko shook his head.

"I don't und-"

"_Poison,_" she whispered before falling back to the ground. Akihiko sat back, bewildered, and Mitsuru's head fell limply to her side.

"Shit," Akihiko exclaimed, jumping up. "Shinji, it's poison, the blades must be poisoned, so stay away from the-"

Akihiko's communicator relayed the explosive sound of an evoker firing, and then his friend's biting voice.

"Great. So what about the ones who _didn't _stay away from the blades?"

"Uh, didn't get that far. . ." Akihiko turned back to Mitsuru's unconscious form. "But there's no way she'd bring us into a fight unprepared. She must have brought an antidote, just in case something like this happened. Right?"

A flood of noises filled Akihiko's ears, and when he looked up he saw Shinjiro blasting the limbs from the Masked Maya as if he were removing branches from a tree.

He just had to think. If Mitsuru had indeed brought along any emergency items, they would surely be too numerous to carry all at once. He looked over to her motorcycle and spotted a dark brown satchel slung over the handlebars.

* * *

"I'm making a break for it, Shinji. Cover me!"

Shinjiro had less than a second to process Akihiko's statement before the shadow wound up for a a heavy strike. Shinjiro heaved his ax over his shoulder before sending it through a wide arc into the Maya's iron mask. The Maya let out a furious shriek as it retaliated at Shinjiro with a roaring Agilao spell. He fell back and his weapon was knocked from his grip. He rolled over onto his stomach, silently writhing in pain.

His head spinning, Shinjiro arched his neck and discovered that he was laying directly where the bridge wall had been just minutes ago. Thanks to Akihiko, there was a only an inch between him and a harrowing plunge into the water below. He could fall, and if that didn't kill him he would certainly drown. Paralyzed with fear, Shinjiro was unseeing of the monster looming behind him.

* * *

_Breathe. _

She pulled in a ragged breath before turning over on her side. Immediately, she moaned in pain as the deep laceration on her chest and arm brushed against the cold ground. Her head was throbbing and her eyes were struggling to find a steady object to focus on. Moments ago, the clashing sounds of Aragaki's attacks mingling with the shadow's counter attacks had fallen silent, and the only thing that mattered now was acting.

_Summon me, and it very well may be the last thing you ever do._

Mitsuru saw the shadow lift its remaining arms high over it's mask and without drawing another breath, pushed the evoker to her temple and fired.

* * *

While rummaging frantically through the brown satchel full of oddly shaped bottles and vials, Akihiko was suddenly bombarded with the violent sounds of a struggle. Akihiko froze as he watched the heinous Masked Maya stagger back toward his position beside the retaining wall of the Moonlight Bridge.

_You should move. _

Akihiko looked down at the contents of the satchel, at least a dozen more little bottles of liquid still unidentified.

_Sooner rather than later._

"I've got a better idea," he growled, throwing the satchel over his shoulder and swinging his legs over the bike.

_THAT'S NOT YOURS!_

Akihiko rammed the edge of his evoker to his head as he turned the ignition of the motorcycle.

"Polydeuces!"

Akihiko revved the engine and sped away just as the godly persona emerged, arms curling over his head as he launched into the Masked Maya. Polydeuces intercepted the odious beast as it rolled toward the retaining wall, and with a terrible crash they collided into the stone barricade. His persona's attack hit a soft spot, and even after Polydeuces had vanished, the Masked Maya stayed down. Just as Akihiko was deliberating turning around and finishing the job, Castor soared overhead and slammed into the Maya with a punishing slash. A quick look over, and Akhiko spotted Shinjiro, standing tall next to the edge of the bridge. Akihiko swung the bike to a stop and rushed to Mitsuru's side as he tipped the bag upside down and began rummaging through the bottles. At last, he found a small vial with a strange purple liquid.

"Dis-poison. This must be it, hang in there, Mitsuru-san."

Gently, Akihiko lifted Mitsuru's head on to his lap and tipped the bottle to her lips.

_I sort of made a mess. _

No cars or coffins, right? How mad can she be?

_Sure you wanna find out?_

The last drop of the potion escaped the bottle, and the ailing leader opened her eyes.

* * *

Shinjiro watched from afar as Castor pulled off the Maya's last remaining arm before driving his lance between its eyes. The shadow dissipated, and all that remained was a pile of rubble. He turned away, head and body aching, but feeling somehow tranquil with Castor back in his mind. He turned back to the other members of his team and saw them both collapsed on the ground. With a slew of dreadful possibilities running through his mind, Shinjiro hurried back only to find Mitsuru propped up on one arm, and Akihiko blue and shivering on the ground.

"Hey," Shinjiro remarked, looking Mitsuru over. "You look a lot better, Aki must have found the-"

"Let this be a lesson to you as well," she interrupted him as she pushed her evoker to her forehead. "Don't you_ ever _ignore my warnings again."

He found himself suddenly encased in a block of ice, and in seconds it had broken apart, leaving him frozen head to toe. He tipped over and the last image that his brain captured was Mitsuru, gently lowering her head down to rest on her arm.

* * *

When Aragaki finished his account, Kurosawa only paused for a moment before reaching over to his phone and pushing the call button.

"Officer Miwa, I'm sending Miss Kirijo out. Please show her to the first aid room," Kurosawa met Kirijo's surprised expression and gestured toward the door.

"That is, if you'd prefer to clean up a bit before seeing your father."

Kirijo's expression relaxed slightly, and Kurosawa's kind eyes seemed to have convinced her that it was all right to leave. She stood up shakily, not noticing Sanada's hands reflexively reaching up to support her should she fall. Kirijo strode calmly to the door, but the expression of deep concern on her face was clear as she looked back to Sanada and Aragaki.

Aragaki crossed his arms, unimpressed while Sanada offered her a lame thumbs up and a half smile in an attempt at reassurance.

"On your way," Kurosawa said lowly.

The door shut quietly, and Kurosawa exhaled softly as he spread two pieces of paper out before him and began to furiously write.

"That was very kind of you, sir," Sanada commented after a tense moment of silence filled only with the sound of a scratching pen.

"You're welcome," Kurosawa responded gruffly, not looking up.

". . . E-Excuse me?" Sanada stammered.

"Mitsuru's just been appointed to damage control," Aragaki said, licking his lips and eyeing Kurosawa "If her old man sees she's in better shape than you or I, he's less likely to dismantle S.E.E.S. and we're less likely to show up in a ravine three months from now."

"Takeharu Kirijo wouldn't toss your bodies into a ravine, son. He pays people to do that for him."

"I'm sorry, what's happening?" Sanada asked bemusedly.

"Officer Kurosawa seems to be intervening on behalf of our cult," Aragaki answered, still not looking away from Kurosawa.

"Extra-curricular club," Kurosawa corrected, moistening his finger before turning the page of his portfolio.

"I know how young people like to embellish and brag about their participation in cults. To an officer of the law however, you're reporting that your student organization was out sparring past curfew and you got a little carried away. Specifically-" Kurosawa's finger pointed first to Aragaki before he thought better of it and shook his head.

"You," Kurosawa directed his finger to Sanada, "got carried away and gave Miss Kirijo her injury."

"Me?!" Sanada launched up from his seat, fuming. "Why me?! I'd never lay a hand on her-"

"He does have extreme gynophobia, it's true."

"God, _shut up-_" Sanada turned back to the grinning Aragaki, who gave Sanada's arm a jerk and roughly re-seated him.

Kurosawa looked at them both squarely, certain that neither of them could see the distant twinkle of amusement in his eyes from where they were seated. He inhaled slowly before going on.

"Let me ask you something, then. Which one of you would be fast enough to land a hit to a fencer who's currently competing on the international circuit?"

The room was still with silence after Kurosawa posed his question and after a tense moment Sanada let out a small defeated sigh while Aragaki smacked his lips in resignation. Kurosawa pressed his hands to his desk and scooted forward in his chair.

"That's what I thought. According to Aragaki, both you and Kirijo were sparring with rapiers when you both became competitive. Things escalated and Aragaki intervened. I will note, Sanada, that you expressed extreme remorse and apologized to Miss Kirijo. Any questions so far?"

Both of them shook their heads, Sanada still looking rather put out. Kurosawa looked back to his writing and continued.

"You're reporting that a vehicle of unknown size, piloted by a drunk driver, then drove through and clipped your group. As you tried to get out of its path, you were thrown into oncoming traffic. Narrowly escaping death, you did not regain consciousness until the on-duty officer arrived on the scene. Your club's adult supervisor, which of course you are legally required to have. . ."

"-Chairman Ikutski," Sanada rushed in.

". . . Was notified."

"And our 'guns'?" Sanada pressed.

"There were no guns found at the scene," Kurosawa said plainly. "Remember?"

"Why are you doing this?" Aragaki cut in softly.

"Doing what?" Kurosawa asked lightly as his pen excitedly traveled on the portfolio of papers before him. Aragaki glared at him indifferently while Sanada fidgeted in his seat.

"You sound like you're letting us go," Sanada suggested.

"Weren't you paying attention? There's no evidence to keep you here."

"Then what's the catch?" Aragaki pushed back.

Kurosawa bared his teeth in an endeavor to comfort the two young men before him. His attempt at a smile had the opposite effect and they both shrank back in their seats.

"I'm going to let you in on a secret. As a policeman, you learn pretty quickly that the most dangerous criminals live in the shadows. They are the shadows . . . so to speak," Aragaki and Sanada shared a look and Kurosawa went on.

"So, how can I fight what I can't see?"

". . .O-Officer?"

"My job is to protect this city, and if for some reason I can't do my job, then I have to find other means to keep my city safe. Do you understand?"

"Are you . . . " Sanada rolled his eyes back contemplatively as he spoke. "Are you asking us to use our pers-"

"That reminds me," Kurosawa's voice escalated for the first time during their interview as he looked tranquilly back at Sanada. "Do you two know what a vigilante is?"

"Vigilante?" Aragaki repeated.

"_One who takes or advocates the taking of law enforcement into one's own hands_. Sound like a bad thing?"

"Yes, sir," Sanada replied instantly, and Kurosawa could easily locate the smile trembling below his expression.

"Very bad, sir," Aragaki agreed gravely.

Kurosawa shut his portfolio with a sharp snap.

"Good. The Port Island Police will continue investigating the crime scene, but as far as I'm concerned, the damages on the bridge are officially considered an act of God. There are no charges to press at this time or any reasonable evidence that you three directly caused any of the damages reported. You three are officially not considered persons of interest, this interview has officially been a waste of my time and I am officially warning you to abide by the midnight curfew for persons under eighteen or I will officially throw your asses in jail. Any questions?"

"Nope," Aragaki grinned.

"Now," Kurosawa cleared his throat. "Upon leaving this office, you will overhear a discussion between me and another officer regarding the scheduled arrival of a shipment of seized weapons. Since Port Island is the only city with a certificate to destroy dangerous and hazardous materials, we typically receive a large shipment of contraband weapons every few weeks. I am in charge of overseeing the destruction of these materials on the following Friday afternoon."

"The following Friday afternoon?"

"I transfer them to a holding station at Paulownia Mall. I'm usually the only one there between three and five. Now, let me make myself very clear: If I see any of you with any of the kind of weapons I've mentioned at any place at any time, I will disavow any connection you claim and will not hesitate to seek the maximum penalty associated with carrying illegal weapons. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly," Sanada said cheerfully.

Aragaki raised his hand.

"Can I get a new ax now?"

* * *

When she opened her eyes, she felt as though she had been dreaming for years. She looked up and saw that the sky had been cleared of clouds and a deep azure had filled every patch. She sat up and stretched her arms out, and found that he had placed his coat behind her head. He was standing next to her, the orb at his feet. She looked at it for a moment before picking it up in her hands. The glass ball had been drained of its black color and now the strange object was nothing but a clear glass sphere.

"Hey," he said, turning around and offering her his hand. She accepted it and stood, showing him the transformed orb.

"The first execution was definitely the most painful," he said at last.

She smiled.

"Perhaps I was too harsh."

"Nah," he shook his head, drawing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his embrace. "We deserved it."

Together they stood, looking down at Shinjiro's resting place.

"Let's defeat Nyx," Mitsuru murmured. "For him."

"Yeah," He drew a deep breath in, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "For all of us."


End file.
